Under Pressure
by 1stTimeCaller
Summary: Riza discovers some of Team Mustang competing over who deserves their privacy the most. A Royai fluff fic. Epilogue now up, rated M for a reason
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello all! This is my first story, set after the Promised Day but before the epilogue. I wanted to write partially about Mustang's whole crew because I love them all, but mostly I love Roy and Riza, so expect this to earn its M rating in the next chapter or two. Also feel free to point out spelling and grammar errors, but I'm from the UK, so I promise you I haven't spelled 'colour' or 'realise' incorrectly :P**

 **Happy reading!**

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Riza had been so engrossed in her work that she only looked up when she noticed the _absence_ of noise. The sunlight was piercing through the small holes in the wall, diffusing the light like a sieve, and spots of light speckled the room. The room was furnished with some basic military necessities: One gas cooker, one kettle, two pots, some ration parcels, six sleeping rugs, six blankets and pillows, one metal fold-out table and some matching metal fold-out chairs, all of which were empty, save for the one she was occupying.

She could account for some of the absences; Furey was probably still laying communication lines around the perimeter. Because he was the only one who had to leave base for his job, Mustang insisted on joining him for safety purposes. Riza suspected it was partly to get out of having to do mindless admin for a few hours, but unfortunately, it made sense for Mustang to go. He knew this place well. But the rest of the crew were sitting with her when she had last looked up. She vaguely remembered Havoc getting up to smoke outside, and Breda saying he could do with the fresh air himself. Maybe they invited Falman as well. She thinks that maybe they also invited her, but she can't remember correctly. She was absorbed in work at the time, and she was exhausted to boot.

She stood up, stretching her back and looking for any clue as to their whereabouts, when she heard a distinct voice.

"Oh, you're ON".

It was coming from outside the ruined house. She quickly turned towards the door, following Havoc's voice until she was outside, squinting slightly at the much-too-bright sun before the desert came back into focus. The sands lay pretty flat, so the men were easy to spot, even from the distance. Havoc was standing over Falman and Breda, both sitting on the sand. They had their backs turned to her. She walked towards them, listening to snippets of their conversation as she approached.

"Five bullets left. More than enough for what we need," she heard Breda say. He was looking down towards his lap. She stifled a sigh. _What are these idiots up to?_

"It looks very old. Possibly from before war, but definitely military issue," Falman was examining what Riza assumed was a gun in Breda's possession, but she was still too far away to know for certain. "The writing has deteriorated, but it was likely used by guards as a non-lethal deterrent for small-scale criminals".

"I'm not even sure why you would think to challenge me. The room is mine for sure" snickered Havoc, standing above the two of them, hands joined behind his head. Riza saw plumes of smoke dance above the Second Lieutenant's head as he spoke.

"What room?"

They all turned to her at the sound of her voice, startled, but relaxed as they recognised her. Havoc smiled.

"Hawkeye, you're not going to believe this. This idiot" his head nodded towards Breda "just challenged me to a shooting competition! Winner gets the room!"

"What room?" she repeated.

"The extra room in our current location" interrupted Falman. "The building has two small rooms and one large one. Mustang has already laid claim to one of the small rooms. The rest of the team will have to sleep in the large room, so that leaves the other small room up for grabs". He looked at her apologetically. "I suggested you be the one to take it, but Breda and Havoc agreed that you would not accept special treatment".

They were right, of course. Riza would have used the room to change clothes, but she would not have been happy taking luxuries just because she was the only woman on the team.

"So you're making a bet?"

"Exactly", Breda announced. "See the card over there?" Riza's gaze followed to where he was pointing. She could see a playing card a few yards away, propped up by a small pile of sand. She squinted at the black spot in the middle, barely making it out to be the shape of a spade. Since there was only one spade, it must have been the ace of spades.

"Whoever can shoot the card closest to the spade wins" Breda continued. Riza glanced down at the gun on his lap. It was a small steel handgun. Falman had been right, the police that were here before the war broke out used guns like these. Riza knew that each 'bullet' was tiny, the size of a piece of buckshot. It was used to slow a fleeing target down prior to arrest.

She thought back to the war, when she watched the police stationed there give them in, and the horrors on their faces when they were handed weapons far bigger. She saw the colour drain from their faces when they realised that there was no such thing as a non-lethal option any more.

She shook her head, her focus switching back to the men in front of her.

"Does Furey know you're deciding who gets the room without him?" she asked, looking back up at Havoc.

Havoc snickered. "That kid wouldn't fire a hose at a burning building if he could help it. Besides, Furey has some vacation time right after this mission. He won't need the privacy".

"Why do you need the privacy so badly?" she thought the question was straightforward enough but she saw the three men in front of her freeze, as if they were children and she caught them doing something mischievous.

Falman eventually spoke first. "I only want it to read with a lantern on without keeping anyone else up!" his voice was half an octave higher than usual. He gestured semi-frantically towards Havoc and Breda. "They're the ones who want to-" he cut himself off again, face quickly turning red.

Riza looked at Breda first, whose face flushed a little before he shared a glance with Havoc. She turned her attention to Havoc, who was also a little pink with embarrassment. Havoc smiled, avoiding eye contact, and scratched the back of his neck.

"Well, you know…" he trailed off, hoping his answer would be enough, but he saw the confusion on her features and sighed. "We haven't had a break since I came down to get my legs fixed! First hospital visits, then studying with the Colonel, then that stupid three-day road trip to get here! A man needs his privacy, before he explodes!"

Hawkeye could understand the desire to be left alone, but she couldn't grasp why a private room would be so important, since the old ruined house would still be full of people. What could they possibly do in a room alone that they couldn't do in front of…

Oh.

"Oh" she vocalised. The two men blushed deeper.

"Yeah" said Havoc quietly, still looking past her instead of at her. "We just need to… release some pressure".

Now it was Riza's turn to blush, as her mind was filled with the past few weeks' events. It was true, between the team's recovery, the nights spent in hospitals as both patients and visitors, late nights planning the rebuilding of Ishval and the long trip by truck to get here, the whole team was so exhausted that they barely had time to sleep, let alone… release some pressure.

She thought a little further back, to the Promised Day, then back further to the planning of the coup, and even further back to when she was taken hostage and told by Pride that she was always being watched. In fact, Riza couldn't remember the last time she was alone, not to mention the last time she…

Falman cleared his throat, awkwardly cutting through the silence. "So… who is going first?"

Havoc took the gun off of Breda, the embarrassment waning from his face to make room for his usual cocky smirk. "I'll start, may as well call it early, boys" he grinned down at Breda and Falman. "I'm going to blow it out of the water". Havoc lay on his stomach beside Breda. Propping himself on his elbows for support, he concentrated hard down the sight of the gun. Riza could hear his breathing slow down as smoke continued billow from his mouth.

 _BANG!_

The gun was much less loud than a real pistol, but the noise still penetrated through the eerily silent desert. Everyone stared at the playing card. It remained upright, with a crescent shaped hole at the corner of the upper-left. Havoc had clipped the top corner of the card. Riza could practically hear Havoc's jaw drop in horror.

"No fair! The sight on this old piece of junk is completely out of whack!" he looked down at the gun as if it had betrayed him. Breda laughed.

"We found it in the middle of the desert, what did you expect? Glad you went first, now I can compensate for the sight's aim." Breda moved position so he was laying on his stomach, mirroring Havoc, before taking the gun back. "Just an inch or so to the right…"

 _BANG!_

Breda's shot made a full hole in the card, instead of just tearing the corner. It was almost dead-centre, but he hadn't compensated the vertical nearly enough, so it was still at the top of the card. Falman got into position and took the gun when Breda handed it to him.

 _BANG!_

Falman's face dropped when he saw that the bullet had penetrated the sand beside the card. The sand from the top of the pile poured down, filling the hole as if Falman had never taken a shot.

"HA! I WIN!" Breda beamed, looking over at Havoc, who was red as a tomato. It looked like steam was about to come out of his ears.

"You totally cheated! You wanted me to go first because you knew the sight would be wrong!"

"You call it cheating, I call it _strategy_ " Breda tried to keep a serious face, but his cocky grin still came through.

"Call it whatever you want, it was a dirty trick! I demand a rematch! There's still two bullets! Round two, let's -"

 _BANG!_

The two men jumped in terror, quickly turning to look at Falman. Falman, however, wasn't looking forward. His head was craned above and behind him. They quickly noticed he didn't have a gun in his hand.

In sync, Breda and Havoc followed Falman's line on sight, slowly lifting their heads. They found the gun nestled in Hawkeye's outstretched hand. She was still standing above them, pointing the gun down and towards the distance. When their gaze met her face, they slowly switched to following _her_ line of sight, turning their heads directly in front of them and squinting to see the small target.

The playing card had a tiny hole, the size of a piece of buckshot, right in the middle, effectively removing the spade from the ace.

The three men looked on in astonishment. After a spell of silence, realisation dawned on Havoc and he scowled.

"Hey! What the hell Hawkeye?!" he steamed, looking back towards her. She was still in the exact same position, eyes on the target, hand outstretched, finger on the trigger. "You weren't even part of this bet! It totally doesn't count! Besides, no way you could have compensated that much for the sight, you weren't even in the same position! That was the flukiest thing I've ever-"

 _BANG!_

The three men jumped again, startled. They quickly looked over at the card, which looked no different. For a moment, Havoc thought she had missed, but his face dropped when he saw the briefest outline of a _second_ bullet-hole, almost completely obscured by the first, like a Venn Diagram. The sand began to pour through the hole, until the card was mostly obscured.

Havoc shut up.

Riza dropped the gun on the sand. "We should get back. It's probably time for lunch by now." She turned and started to walk away. It took a few moments for the rest of the team to pick up their jaws and scramble to their feet, following her. She could hear them muttering, lamenting the loss of their room as they walked, but she ignored them and continued ahead towards the makeshift base.

Riza would never accept special treatment just because she was the only woman on the team, but she was more than happy to _earn_ her luxuries.

Besides, she had some pressure of her own to release.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: First and foremost, I managed to spell Fuery's name properly this time.**

 **Thank you all so much for the kind reviews, both private and public, as well as the favs and follows! I have written a lot more in the past few hours, and I had to break my pieces up into seperate chapters. This one's a little longer, but I couldn't resist letting Team Mustang have a bit more fun! Be sure to follow, because the next one's a DOOZY! And let me know if this is too long or if you're okay with longer chapters.**

 **Thanks again, enjoy!**

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Riza had just finished making a batch of coffee for her teammates when she heard a distinct crackle of static emerging from the box on the table. She turned around, seeing Havoc, Breda and Falman sitting at the table, lifting their heads and snapping to attention.

The voice that came through sounded far away at first. "Okay, I think that should be the last of it. Hello? Hello? Hang on..." The static crackled again and the voice came through much clearer. "Testing, testing. Can any of you hear me?"

Breda was the first to respond, picking up the microphone and pressing the button.

"Fuery, you beautiful bastard! I was sure this was going to take up half of tomorrow too!"

There was a soft, embarrassed giggle on the other end of the line. "Yeah, so did I. There's still work to do to get more comms set up, but the Colonel says we should finish up for the day since we skipped lunch. We're walking back to base, we should get there in about an hour".

"Copy that. I'll get dinner started. The rations don't leave much room for inventive cuisine, but I'll figure something out. Over and out." Breda put the mic down again, turning to face Riza as she handed him a mug of coffee. He smiled to show his thanks and took a gulp. Riza smiled back before taking the window. The light shining in had indeed dimmed somewhat. She hadn't noticed that it was so close to dinner-time.

"Need help cooking?" Riza threw her voice behind her as she went around the table with the rest of the coffees.

"Sure. My bag's in the corner, I brought some garlic oil. Might help override the taste of salt".

Riza collected the bag and opened the front panel, finding a small bottle of oil with three peeled cloves of garlic inside.

"And there's some magazines there too. You may as well take them, since I won't be needing them anymore."

As her eyes found the magazines (pamphlets, really), she could hear Falman splutter the coffee out of his mouth as Havoc barked in laughter. The front pages had pictures of beautiful women, some in banners of the cover wearing burlesque outfits, while the featured cover-girls wore considerably less. She turned around to see Havoc doubled over, Falman looking like he was about to die and Breda smiling playfully.

She had been around military men long enough to be used to inappropriate banter, so she wasn't embarrassed by what Breda was implying. Instead she frowned, a little confused.

"I don't know why you think they'd do me much good either, Lieutenant".

Breda waved his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. Just thought I'd offer. I know shit-all about what your interests in that field may or may not be". There was still teasing in his voice and Havoc stopped laughing quite as hard to choke out a sentence.

"Yeah, Hawkeye. No judgement either way but for all we know, you could be into girls". He paused, his eyes lighting up like he just thought of the funniest joke in history. " _In fact_ , all we know is that you're into _yourself_ enough to -" his words were cut off by another choking sound from Falman, and he quickly resumed his obnoxious, barking laughter, clutching his sides and gulping for air between laughs. Breda joined him for a minute before wiping a tear from his eye and standing up.

Hawkeye chose to let it slide, knowing that any reaction from her would continue the conversation. She had no interest in hearing more speculation about her romantic life, so she joined Breda as he stood up and moved towards the supplies. She emptied a canteen of water into one of the pots as Breda scanned through the rations, idly mumbling.

"Okay some peppers and potatoes at least. Jerky. Maybe we'll save the jerky for snacking tomorrow. Spinach, although it looks a little wilted…" Breda continued to mutter, eyes focused as he tried to match a recipe to the ingredients.

"Anything else, Breda?" Riza lit the small stove and placed the pot on top.

"Nah, I'll throw in some veg when the water gets hot and take it from there. Thanks Hawkeye".

With that, Riza finally lifted her own cup of coffee. It had cooled down to just about the temperature she liked. She took it to the table, sitting down and grabbing the file she had been reviewing from before she had gotten up to make the coffee.

Havoc had finally stopped laughing, although there were tears in his eyes and a smile still plastered on his face. He had continued with his own work. Falman was wiping coffee stains from the file in front of him and his clothing, giving her an apologetic grin as she sat down.

After a while, the smell of the food filled the room, and everyone was starting to feel their hunger.

"Almost ready", Breda replied to Havoc's grumbling stomach. "Get the paperwork off the table and set up". Riza stood up to collect the files and place them on the floor, in a bag to keep the sand off of them. Falman, upon having his file taken by Riza, also stood and walked towards supplies, taking out some bowls and cutlery. Havoc took two of the bowls from Falman over to Breda, holding out each bowl for Breda to ladle the food into, before walking the bowls to the table and returning with empty bowls. After three trips, each bowl was full and set up for six, with the appropriate cutlery beside it.

"Something smells great. And judging by this heat I'm pretty sure it's none of us," Mustang entered the room with a grin, Fuery closely following behind. Both men were sweating profusely under their coverings. Fuery's glasses were smudged with sweat and sand. Mustang's hair was plastered to his forehead. They both removed their hooded cloaks, Fuery folding his over his arm while Mustang balled his up and threw it in the corner. Their sand-coloured t-shirts and trousers looked soaked as well, but apart from their obvious exhaustion, they were clearly happy.

"Just in time" Breda remarked, ignoring the insult. "So is everything set?".

"Tomorrow morning, we'll make sure the rest of the units work and pass the paperwork to the new team by afternoon," Fuery beamed. Riza was relieved that nothing went wrong for them. Not that she thought they might get attacked – there was nobody around for miles – but because it meant there was no delay on them returning to Central. They had come simply to lay communication lines and sort through their candidates for the rest of the team that would help rebuild Ishval. While Fuery and Mustang has established the parameters and set up the infrastructure, Riza and the rest had been organising the new team and their itinerary: how they would set up water supplies, temporary housing, railways and roads until Ishval was finally thriving enough to welcome back its refugees. They would be visiting a lot in the future to check on progress, and with the communication lines down, the teams would be able to contact each other between bases. Mustang would also be able to receive news on the project, and issue orders.

She looked at Mustang as he wiped his hair from his face, leaving a streak of dirt smeared across his forehead. It must have been hard on him to look around the ruined plains. She felt it herself, could almost picture what it had been like before the war. Before they came along. But there was a hope in Mustang's eyes, which shone brighter than ever before. She forced herself not to smile softly at him, but it was difficult to restrain herself. He was seeing this through, atoning for his mistakes; _their_ mistakes. Even alchemy can't resurrect the dead. All they can do now is help the living.

Mustang moved to walk further into the base before she fixed her gaze firmly at his feet.

"Boots. Off". He paused in his tracks, eyes wide before they softened and he pouted at her.

"Sure, yeah. Wouldn't want the sand getting in" he said sarcastically, gesturing at the already-sandy ground. Despite their efforts, sand gets everywhere, but she fixed him with a stare and he began to remove his boots, Fuery doing the same.

They sat at the table, Breda finally finishing his duties in the designated kitchen area and taking a seat as well. Everyone ate quickly, partially from hunger, partially from military habit. The food was a broth, with thick pieces of vegetables and a salty thin soup. It was delicious.

"You've outdone yourself Breda" Mustang sighed as he dropped the spoon into the empty bowl and sat back, relaxed.

"The trick is to drain and replace the water after a few minutes. Gets rid of half the damn salt".

When everyone was finished, Riza stood up and collected the bowls, prying Havoc's from his face as Havoc tried to lick the crevices clean. She heard everyone else stand up, moving over towards their bags.

When she turned back to the team, they were in various stages of undress. Breda and Falman had their shirts off, whilst Havoc and Fuery were already down to just their boxers. Mustang was still fully dressed, digging through his own bag. He looked up at her, grabbed her bag and threw it towards her.

"You can change in my room if you want".

She was going to tell him that she didn't need it and that she had a room of her own now, but he had already turned from her, pulling his shirt off before flapping it back and forth, as if trying to air it out. She allowed herself a moment to look at his back. His shoulders were broad, the skin mostly unblemished. A sheen of sweat was still covering his skin, and she watched his muscles twitch with the movement of his arm. Further down, she could see the scar on his side from his fight with Lust. She hadn't known it reached so far around him that she would be able to see it on his back. His lower back was smooth, with slight protrusions of bone and muscle. She decided not to respond to him, thinking it best not to have him turn around to face her. She briefly thought of him turning around, showing off his chest, which likely glistened with sweat. She squashed down the thought and walked into the other room, closing the creaking door behind her.

The room was completely empty. It was more than big enough for one person. The window was opened, the light from the day almost completely disappearing. She looked out at the sunset.

She'd seen the sun setting in Ishval before. It featured in her nightmares, her flashbacks to the war. In them, the huge sun would colour the sky a hue of purples and reds and oranges over the battlefield. She would no longer be able to see the sand, and as it set further, the blood on the ground would start to glow, dark red and still liquid, until it was all that she could see.

But now, there was no blood on the sand. Or at least no evidence of the blood that had been there. The sun shone on the light brown sand, reflecting it, until it looked like millions of glittering crystals over the land. Riza changed into her nightdress, putting a pair of sweats on as well to protect her legs from the sand. It would also protect her from the whoops and wolf-whistles her colleagues would surely tease her with if she were to show off bare legs. She took her hairclip out and zipped it into her bag, feeling the relief of the loosening grip of her roots.

She walked over to the opposite side of the room, where another door stood. Opening it, she found the second small room; slightly smaller than the one she was standing in but still comfortable enough for a sleeping mat to lie down easily. She dropped her bag in that room, deciding it would be hers. Mustang was her superior, so he should get the bigger private room, and she would be able to wake him in the morning on her way into the main room. He would most certainly sleep in if nobody woke him. Riza walked back into the main room with the rest of the men.

They had all finished dressing into their night clothes as well and were sitting at the table talking. When she closed the door behind her, Mustang turned around to look at her. She watched his eyes trace her face, glide slowly down her body, pausing at her sweatpants. He smirked when he saw them, and his eyes travelled back up to meet hers. He smiled when he found her face again.

Mustang looked at her a lot more often than he used to. Or at least, a lot more _obviously_ than he used to. She assumed it was due to him only recently regaining his sight. She had been so afraid that he might never see again that Riza couldn't muster up a disapproving glare when he looked at her. Still, it did make her feel a little embarrassed. She felt naked under his glance more often than not, and the brightness and wonder in his eyes sometimes got so intense that she could feel heat rushing to her cheeks. She was the first to break eye contact, trying to maintain composure as she scanned her eyes over the rest of the room.

"Now that everyone's here…" Mustang got up from his seat with a flourish, walking towards Riza. Her breath hitched a little as he passed her, brushing against her on his way to her side of the room. He paused and turned to face the room, standing in front of a large metallic box, and picked up his bag.

"I brought a small surprise for everyone. I know you must have all been wondering what was in this box –"

"Never even realised it was here" interrupted Havoc. The rest of the team shrugged as well. Riza had noticed it in the truck but guessed it was one of the comms devices. Mustang frowned at Havoc's interruption.

"Anyway. I thought that since this is our first mission with the whole gang back together…" Mustang opened the box, revealing an old, dusty record player. He turned back to the team and smiled conspiratorially. "… We'd better make it a good one".

Falman's eyes lit up. As he walked towards the record player, Mustang dug through his bag for a few choice records, presenting them to him.

"I hope you don't mind, Falman. I knew you had a collection in your desk so I swiped them before we got here".

"Not at all, sir! Can I suggest we begin with this one?" Falman was happily holding up a blue record sleeve with a picture of a man smiling brightly and playing piano.

Mustang clapped him on the shoulder. "Go right ahead, my friend".

When the needle hit the record, some bouncy piano music began to play, the noise filling the room enough that Mustang had to raise his voice.

"And what kind of celebration would it be without champagne?" Roy produced a bottle from the bag. "Warm, mind you, and not at all expensive". The men laughed at the announcement. "Havoc, grab some glasses. Hawkeye…", he looked at her again, his eyes lighting up with the same wonder that had almost made her blush before. He reached out his arm, presenting her with the bottle. "If you'd do the honours…"

Riza took the bottle from him and examined it. Havoc was quickly beside her with some mugs (the military didn't tend to send stemware in their supplies). Riza pulled the gold foil off of the neck of the bottle and began twisting the wire basket-case from the cork. Everyone watched as she positioned her thumbs beneath the edge of the cork, aiming it at the open window.

With a loud pop, the cork flew off the bottle, flying through the open window as everyone cheered. It let out some projectile spray before settling to a gentle foam, pouring down the side of the glass bottle, over her hands. Havoc moved into position, catching the foam with the corner of a mug, and she tipped the bottle to pour. Havoc swapped out the mug for an empty one, the hand holding the topped-off mug waving it frantically until Breda rose to take it off of him. Riza switched to pouring with one hand, shaking her other hand partially dry of the escaped liquid. She continued to pour as she brought her free hand up to her mouth, licking the remaining champagne from her knuckles.

She turned to Mustang. He was still looking at her, the smile from when she opened the champagne still on his face. But his gaze flickered to her hand, now at her mouth. The eyes that held such child-like wonder moments ago suddenly darkened. Riza felt the heat rising to her face again and turned back to the bottle as she filled the mugs that Havoc presented and he handed them off to his co-workers. The chirpy piano music continued playing, her friends continued loudly voicing their approval of the Colonel's alcohol, and Riza tried not to think about her superior's stares – his gentle, awe-struck shining eyes or his _darker_ , more serious eyes with a hint of… what, exactly?

Riza shook her head and tried to stay in the room. She was pretty sure she shouldn't ask herself that question.

Havoc kept possession of the last two mugs, handing Riza one when she had finished pouring. Everyone looked at Mustang expectantly, knowing that he would never be able to resist a bit more flare than simply allowing them to drink the champagne.

Mustang's eyes scanned the room, smiling. "A toast", he raised his mug above his head. Falman and Fuery, the only two sitting at the time, stood up, and everyone raised their mug towards him.

"Men, we've gone through some rough times the past few years," everyone chuckled at the understatement. "We've done some great things, and some bad things. We've stared God in the face and spat in his eye! We've travelled through the freezing North..." Mustang nodded towards Falman. "The war-torn South..." another nod, towards Fuery. "We've scoured every inch of this land only to find out that the biggest threats were in our own back yard." He laughed. "We staged a fucking coup!" Everyone joined him, laughing with him. When the laughter died down, he continued.

"We managed to make it back to each other. We're a team again. We're whole. And we've always been better than the sum of our parts."

Riza could feel her features soften as she looked up at him. She has accused him of being cocky more than once, but the man knew how to make a speech.

"I'm proud of you all," he continued. "And I'm honoured to be working with you all again. To us!"

"To us!" they chorused back, in perfect military sync, before breaking into more cheers, clumsily clinking their mugs and swallowing down the warm, almost-flat champagne. Because it was spread among six, there was barely more than a mouthful each, but they drank it down with glee. Riza and Fuery sipped it in a few swallows while the rest of the team downed it like a shot. Havoc looked at his empty mug disappointedly.

"Man, between the sappy speech and the tiny amount of booze, this isn't much of a welcome party" he grumbled. Riza could see in his expression that he was exaggerating his disappointment.

"Funny you should say that, my grumpy subordinate" Mustang's eyes twinkled as he bent over his bag again, pulling two bottles of whiskey from it and looking at Havoc like he had just performed a magic trick. "And there's more where that came from!"

Havoc's eyes misted as he pulled Mustang in for a hug. "I knew I followed you for a reason, sir".


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So it's been a few days and I meant to update a little earlier, but to make up (and for all the background and plot build-up I'm doing with this story) I decided that I would release this chapter in one piece instead of splitting it up. It is an exceptionally long chapter but I hope you stick with it because I'm very proud of it. It's funny and switched POVs and leaves the story in the perfect place for the next chapter!**

 **Please do be sure to let me know what you think, and if you have any questions or suggestions, let me hear them!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Roy Mustang was determined to have a good night.

More importantly, he was determined to make sure that _all_ of his subordinates were having a good night.

He can't remember the last time everyone was together for something other than work. Hell, they haven't even spent time as a unit _at work_ since before Havoc lost the use of his legs.

Havoc and Breda were easy to please: five bottles of whiskey (overkill probably, but better to have extra than to run out) and each other's company would be more than enough. Falman was a little trickier, but he was currently excitedly telling Hawkeye and Fuery about the next couple of albums he planned to play, so Roy chalked it up as a success. Roy had actually been of a lot of use to Fuery today, helping him set up the lines earlier today. He knew now that the kid would be more relaxed at the party, since he didn't have to worry about doing much work tomorrow. And Hawkeye…

Roy smirked, looking over to see her giggling at Fuery's scrunched up face. Fuery was not great at drinking and the whiskey Roy brought was harsh. Hawkeye motioned towards her own cup and threw her head back to take a large swig. She was clearly demonstrating to Fuery that this wasn't a sipping whiskey.

Hawkeye, Roy mused, would be able to have fun if he simply ordered her to do so.

Of course, he'd never say that to her face. She'd fix him with that glare, the one that told him his ego was way too big. But he knew it was true. Her loyalty to him didn't care about his ego. Sometimes, he Roy thinks about how dedicated she is to his cause – to _him_ – he feels something so intense, he has to make himself stop thinking about it.

Besides, he wouldn't have to order her to have fun tonight. Hawkeye loved these men. Every single person in this room loved each other as much as or more than their own families. Roy's heart swelled when Fuery took another stab at drinking the whiskey, trying to hide his grimace a little better, as Hawkeye suppressed her laughter. His eyes settled on her for a few more moments. She was sweeping her hair out of her face, sat on the ground in the corner furthest from the record player and chatting amiably to Fuery and Falman. Her face looked a little flushed, and her features were less regimented than usual. Less guarded. He pondered how much she's had to drink, although he knows he's tipsy too. Looking around, everyone seems to be going down the same path.

He realised he'd been looking at her a little too much. He turned around in his chair to face Havoc and Breda, who thankfully didn't seem to notice. Breda was trying to explain some Eastern cultural traditions to an extremely annoyed looking Havoc. Eventually, Havoc interrupted him.

"This is supposed to be a party, stop trying to be so boooooring" Havoc wasn't all that drunk yet but definitely tipsy enough to complain. "Can we _please_ talk about something that I'm interested in?"

Roy snickered at Havoc. "Okay, so booze, guns or women?" he joked.

Havoc's face lit up as his eyes darted to the corner of the room, where Hawkeye was sitting. "Actually, speaking of all three…" Havoc leaned in conspiratorially, locking eyes with Mustang and wearing a more serious expression. Breda followed suit. Roy scoffed at the childishness of the gesture, before reluctantly leaning in as well. Havoc's voice lowered.

"Boss, has Hawkeye ever introduced you to someone she was dating?" Breda frowned at Havoc, before turning to face Roy, a curious look in his eyes.

"Well…" Roy thought for a few seconds. "Not intentionally, that I know of." He searched his memory but came up blank.

"What do you mean not intentionally?" Breda asked, innocently enough. Roy considered lying to them, but knew he was just about drunk enough that his face would give it away. He sighed.

"I may have run into her once or twice while she was on a date…" Not technically a lie, but he hoped he wouldn't be pressed further on the issue. He saw a questioning look in Havoc's eyes and held his breath, bracing himself.

 _Here it comes_.

"… Men or women?"

"Havoc!" Roy balked. Breda quickly looked up from the table, before looking down at the men again. Something in Breda's eyes told Roy that he had been loud enough to capture the attention of the three soldiers in the corner. "Havoc!" he repeated, much quieter.

"What? You know I'm not judging. In fact…" Havoc's grin widened and he raised an eyebrow suggestively as he trailed off. Roy and Breda rolled their eyes. Havoc was undeterred.

"It's just so weird. I've even met Fuery's dates before! No way Hawkeye is lacking for interested men. Or women." he appended. "So, which is it? Men or women?"

Roy sighed again, wanting to tell Havoc that they should all mind their own business, and that Hawkeye's love-life was none of their concern, and that if she wanted him to know, _she'd tell him herself, thank you very much_. But instead he picked up the half-empty bottle of whiskey, topping the three of them up.

"Men."

"Huh."

"So, what's her type?" Breda asked, his voice lower than before. Roy expected better of him. "Anyone we'd know?"

"I don't think so, no."

Breda smiled, eyes twinkling. "Anyone _you'd_ know?"

Roy fixed him with a stare, and Breda chuckled, muttering to himself. Roy barely caught the words "run into her on a date, huh?" Roy's scowl deepened and Breda, still smiling, decided to change the subject. He leaned out of the little makeshift huddle they'd made for themselves and rubbed his hands together.

"Okay boys, anyone interested in some poker?"

Havoc looked at him. "We can't play poker. One of your cards is outside with holes in it."

Breda looked confused, before realisation dawned on him. "Oh. Yeah."

"Wait, what?" Roy asked. "Why are there holes in one of your cards?"

Havoc smirked and leaned back into a huddle.

"Oh yeah, we haven't told you yet…"

* * *

Riza laughed louder than she had intended to when Falman tried to stand up. He stumbled and ended up safely plopping down in the same position as he had started. He and Fuery joined her laughter. She was feeling warm, despite the fact that they were now well into the night-time, and nights in the desert were cold.

She knew it was the whiskey that kept her body warm and her mind a little fuzzy and her laugh a little loud. She didn't mind. She was usually a lot more nervous about drinking and the lack of control she felt when she was drunk, but she trusted the men around her and didn't feel like they'd hold a few loud laughs against her.

Shortly after Mustang's toast, she had set up a few oil lanterns around the room. She had then shut the window in the room when she realised that the winds outside were heavy and blowing sand in from the window. Their base was lamp-lit and cosy. Riza had come over to this corner to escape the smell of Havoc's cigarette for a few minutes (Havoc wasn't supposed to smoke in the base, but after a couple of whiskeys, he lit up and nobody cared enough to argue) but Fuery then came over to join her, followed by Falman and a half-full bottle of whiskey. A few hours later and here they were; sat cross-legged on the ground, chatting and laughing.

"Lieutenant," Falman's eyes softened as he looked at her. "It's good to hear your laugh. When I was sent North I was afraid I'd never hear it again."

"Not that we heard it very often," Fuery interrupted with a giggle. The alcohol had made him less anxious, more able to tease his superior without having a panic attack. His words made her laugh a little harder.

"I missed you both too." She admitted, putting her hands on their shoulders. They both swayed a little, almost toppling over even though she hadn't applied much pressure. They laughed again.

Riza looked at the two empty bottles of whiskey on the ground. Had they already drank that much? Riza couldn't remember the second bottle being opened. Still, she felt good and was happy to continue feeling good, even if they would all regret it the next morning.

"I'll fetch us another bottle!" She exclaimed.

"Hey! That's what I was going to do!" Falman accused, but Riza had a much easier time getting up. Before she turned to walk away, Falman looked at her with pleading eyes.

"Will you put on a new record too?"

Riza smiled and nodded, going first to the record player and selecting one of the records that hadn't been played. In the brief interim between records, she could hear the winds outside howling, and sand being thrown against the glass of the window.

She chose the record well, she decided, as a brass instrumental piece began to play. Lifting herself onto her tiptoes on a whim, she allowed her body to lean into her uneven steps. She was not quite dancing, but she was swaying languidly to the music. One particularly unsteady step caught Breda's attention and through her heavy eyelids she saw him smile before elbowing Havoc, who looked up to see her too. Havoc smiled too, mouthing something she couldn't hear and shortly after, the Colonel turned in his chair curiously before his eyes rested on her.

She let her eyes close and her head sway partially to indulge better in the music but mostly because if she kept looking at the attention she was getting, she would get embarrassed. Her whimsical notion lasted only a few more seconds before she stopped swaying and scanned the room for more alcohol. She looked past the men who were still looking at her, spotting an unopened bottle of whiskey on the table between them.

She approached the table and reached for the bottle of whiskey. Havoc tried to catch her wrist before she grabbed it, but instead he clumsily pawed at her hand before his own fell back on the table.

"Heyyyyy, no fair!" He pouted. She laughed at his dropped lip. There half a bottle open beside Havoc, so she didn't feel guilty when she pulled the full bottle up, cradling it to her chest defensively.

"You boys having a good night?" she asked, looking at the other two men at the table. Breda's grin looked tired but genuine. Mustang was concentrating on the bottle in her hand, also pouting. His pout looked more playful though, and her suspicions were confirmed when he broke into a smile.

"You know it, Hawkeye!" Breda answered, shuffling a deck of cards clumsily.

"What are you playing?"

"Poker without the aces," Mustang slurred a little as he spoke. His eyes lit up. "Speaking of which…" his smile deepened. "The guys were telling me about your little bet earlier".

"Oh? Did they tell you I wiped the floor with them?" Riza chuckled, casting a teasing glance to Breda and Hawkeye.

"They didn't put it in those words, but I figured. They also told me why you wanted the room." He said, almost as if it were an afterthought.

Riza froze a little. Surely the men hadn't told _her boss_ that she wanted privacy so she could…

 _They didn't_.

"They did?" She asked through a lump in her throat.

"Yeah. I don't know why you'd need a room to yourself though…" Mustang took a swig from his mug before continuing. "I'd have been happy to help you out".

Riza fought back a gasp, willing the blush creeping up her face to go away. He had said it so casually, there wasn't even a hint of teasing in his voice.

"S-sir?"

"It would have been no problem. And it would save some time. I'd like to think I've gotten much better at it over the years," he explained. "Although, I'm not sure what help I'd be to you any more", he waved his mug at her, a goofy grin on his face. "Too much whiskey".

Riza could have fainted then and there.

Havoc's eyes went wide and a huge smile spread across his face.

"Aw man, I didn't even think of asking her if she needed any help!" His eyes glinted impishly. She knew he was teasing her. Still, she couldn't stop her jaw from dropping.

"Well, you should have!" Mustang accused. "You can't expect her to do it by herself! And you", Mustang wagged a finger at Breda. "I expected better of you." Havoc had broken down laughing by this point.

Riza realised that Breda wasn't smiling. He cleared his throat and looked up at her.

"Yeah, we were just telling the Colonel here that _you wanted a private room so you could finish up the paperwork_ " Breda emphasised through gritted teeth. Havoc was still laughing.

Riza was confused at first, and her mind raced. Mustang had offered to help… thought it would save time… too much whiskey…

 _Oh._

He was offering to help her with _paperwork_.

Riza let out a breath she hadn't noticed she was holding, sighing in relief before trying to regain composure of her face. Of _course_ Breda and Havoc would have known better than to tell Mustang the truth. She gave a quick nod to Breda before looking at Mustang.

"That's quite alright Sir. I don't need any assistance".

"Yeah," Havoc choked out between fits of laughter. "She'd probably be happier by herself, make sure the job gets done right, you know?" He proceeded to howl again, barely able to breathe.

Mustang raised an eyebrow at Havoc, clearly not getting the joke.

"What's up with him, do you think?" he asked.

Riza and Breda shared a quick, panicked glance.

"No idea sir."

"He's probably just had too much to drink."

Havoc settled down, gasping for air until his breath evened.

"Yeah, don't mind me," he winked up at Riza, a huge smile still on his face. She could have killed him on the spot.

"Hey, that's where the whiskey went!" Falman and Fuery approached the table. Fuery held out his mug to Riza, who opened the bottle and poured once the feeling came back into her hands.

* * *

Roy got up when the record had finished playing, staggering slightly before he found his footing again. The room seemed tilted slightly and his vision was partially blurred. The whole team were sat down at the table again. They had played a few rounds of poker before it became obvious that nobody had the concentration or bluffing skills to play. The last game ended with a particularly sloppy shuffle by Breda, spilling the cards over the table and onto the ground. Nobody had bothered trying to pick them up.

There was only one record left that hadn't been played, and Roy was happy to be lifted from the burden of choice. It turned out to be lounge music, calm and chilled-out. It perfectly reflected the time of night. Everyone was too drunk to be rowdy and loud. Instead they just made conversation and enjoyed each other's company. The last bottle of whiskey – previously guarded by Hawkeye – was shared among the men equally, and what was left in their mugs was what was left in the whole region of Ishval. Did they really drink… it took Roy a while to get the math right… three fifths of a bottle of whiskey each? Roy smiled to himself. The drive tomorrow was going to be chaos.

He returned to his seat, sitting between Fuery and Falman, directly opposite Havoc, who was sandwiched between Hawkeye and Breda as they conversed over him.

Roy asked Falman about the musicians from the record that was now playing, and Falman offered the information happily through slurred lips and hiccoughs.

Hawkeye was the first to retire, grabbing her sleeping mat and blanket from the pile before moving towards the door.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Lieutenant?" Havoc slurred, a playful smile on his lips. Roy watched Hawkeye's brows knit in confusion before she returned to a neutral expression.

"I'm not giving you a kiss goodnight, Havoc".

Havoc laughed, the rest of the table snickered tiredly with him.

"Very upfront, but not what I meant…" Havoc gestured towards a bag beside Hawkeye. "The paperwork. Weren't you going to finish that up?"

Breda chuckled and Hawkeye's expression was almost completely unchanged. _Almost_. Roy could see her eyes open a little wider and her body tense, for the briefest moment, before she relaxed.

"Oh, that. I think it would be better if I did that in the morning". With that, she turned around and slipped into the room, everyone muttering farewells.

"Hey Hawkeye, _enjoy your night_ " Breda called to her in a sing-song voice. The door swung closed, slamming behind her and making everyone jump. Breda and Havoc shared another chuckle.

Roy turned back to Breda and Havoc. "What was that about?"

"What was what about, Sir?" Breda asked, but he was unable to hide the playful look on his face.

"Oh come on, you two are keeping secrets from me! _Me_! Your brave and strong leader!" his words were coming out sloppy, but he could tell that the men could understand them. "As your superior, I demand to know what's going on!" he whined.

"I'll answer your question if you answer mine" Breda retorted. Falman and Fuery looked at the men with interest and confusion, having no idea what they were talking about.

Roy allowed Breda to continue.

"How is it you managed to "run into" Hawkeye during dates?" Breda bent his fingers to make messy air-quotes at the phrase "run into". "Was that an accident or was it orchestrated?" Breda and Havoc both smiled conspiratorially. Fuery and Falman looked at him, eyes widening as their interest grew.

Roy couldn't tell them. He knew he'd never live it down for the rest of his life. To be fair, he _had_ just accidentally run into her and a date the first time. He'd been walking down the street and saw Hawkeye across the road. He'd caught her attention with a shout and waved, crossing to greet her, realising as he approached that she was walking alongside someone.

The guy had light-brown hair that almost reached his shoulders, and a dumb looking green shirt and weird grey pants. Hawkeye introduced him as Dave, and Dave shook his hand. Roy remembered thinking that Dave was a dumb and bland name and it suited him perfectly. He couldn't even think of the name without hearing it like a scoff. _Dave!_ Roy asked them where they were headed, and Hawkeye told him that they were going to the Green Hill Café.

Roy knew the place, it was a short walk from Hawkeye's apartment. It was a little fancier than a diner, but not over-the-top, and it closed by 7pm. Because it was relatively casual and closed early, it would be an easy escape if a date went wrong. But if it was going well, it was beside a few bars, where the date would be able to continue. The more Roy thought about it, the more he realised that it would be a great spot for a first date. Roy suspected that maybe Hawkeye brought all of her first dates there.

When the pair bid him farewell, Roy shook _Dave's_ hand again, a little firmer than last time. _Dave_ looked uncomfortable, but still politely smiled.

The other two times were less accidental. A couple of days after Hawkeye's date with _Dave_ , he went to the café himself, grinning and flirting with the hostess until she could be swindled into doing him a small favour.

The hostess called both times, letting Roy know that there had been a booth booked under the name Hawkeye. She also offered the name of who was joining her both times. Roy thanked her, staying flirty enough that she would continue her covert spying for him. Two separate times, he searched for a new name in the old case files, looking for any criminal history or any information at all. The first time, the name came up clean, although Roy still found himself parked opposite Hawkeye's apartment block that evening, breathing a sigh of relief when she returned and went inside alone.

The second time he ran a name, the man had a file in Central. He had done a few petty crimes, nothing major. But Roy still followed him that night into a bar and introduced himself as the famous Flame Alchemist. He left a not-so-subtle hint that he knew about the man's background, and another less-subtle hint that he was a close friend of Hawkeye's. He then left, knowing that the guy got the message.

That was the last date he had heard about, and it happened years ago. Roy had briefly wondered if she had stopped dating, but he knew it was probably more likely that she noticed a pattern and stopped taking her dates to that café. Either way, Hawkeye never mentioned it. Neither did he of course; he didn't want to have to explain that he was only trying to protect her.

If he thought about it too hard, he would have to admit that she was more than capable of protecting herself. And then he'd have to ask himself the _real_ reason he interfered.

Roy brought his attention back to Breda, who was still waiting for an answer. He shrugged his shoulders and frowned.

"Fine, if you don't want to tell me what's happening, I'll let it go" he grumbled, avoiding the initial question. He emphasised the words _let it go_ and Breda knew better than to call him out for deflecting.

Breda sighed. "Fellas, I think it's time for bed." Everyone mumbled their agreement. Roy dragged his sleeping mat along the floor, blanket and pillow bundled in his arms, and turned to his men, who were laying out sleeping mats and taking the pin off the record player, getting ready for some sleep. He wished them a quick goodnight before opening the door into his room.

Looking around the room, lit only by starlight, Roy let an annoyed grunt escape his throat.

 _You've got to be fucking kidding me_.

He must have opened the window when they arrived, and he'd forgotten to close it when he heard the storm start up. The heavy winds had blown sand in everywhere, and they settled in little hills all over the floor of his room. There was a pile that reached the window, pouring in like an avalanche. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep comfortably in this room.

He noticed the footprints in the sand, leading to the door on the opposite side of the room. Hawkeye had clearly passed through to get to her room. He huffed. _She could have warned me_. He knew she was pretty wasted though, and reasoned that she probably didn't even notice.

He was looking forward to having a room to himself. They had camped out in a military tent the past few nights, on the road to Ishval. He was delighted when he saw that there was a building, practically untouched, with a private room, and he had immediately claimed it. Private room meant that he could stretch and move and make himself comfortable without feeling like he was bothering any of his men. He was also worried that his night terrors may start up again, since they were… where they were. A private room meant no awkward questions about why he was whimpering in his sleep.

He continued to look at the door in front of him, thinking it was unfair that Hawkeye got a room for herself. He would of course have offered it to her anyway, but he knew her, and she wouldn't have accepted it.

His ears pricked, sure he had heard a sound. He held his breath until he heard it again. It was a feminine sigh, coming from Hawkeye's room. He had slept in the tent with her and the rest of the men, so he knew she was a silent sleeper. He turned and looked at the door behind him. The guys were probably already asleep, and the door was really creaky. He didn't want to wake them up, knowing that they'd complain grumpily at him as he set up for sleep.

He heard the sigh again, this time a little louder, so he knew he wasn't imagining it. If she was making noise, he reasoned, then she wasn't asleep.

If he had been a little more sober, he would have reasoned that going into her room was inappropriate, and that he should really just turn around and risk waking the men in the room behind him. If he had been a little more sober, he would have reasoned that he should at least _knock_ before he entered the room.

But he was not sober, so he simply walked across his room, blanket and sleeping mat in hand, and opened the door. He heard her squeak and scramble, lifting her arms above the covers and grabbing the blanket, securing it over her chest before looking up to face him.

"Hey, Lieutenant. You could have told me the window was open. Damn sand everywhere. The men are asleep so I thought -" he froze, his eyes finally catching up with the rest of his body.

Hawkeye's arms, above the covers, were completely bare. He looked around the room, seeing a pair of sweats and a nightdress in the corner. She had been wearing them earlier, after dinner. Why would she take off her pyjamas before bed? He looked back to her. Her face was flushed and she was short of breath, practically panting as her mouth hung low and her eyes stayed wide.

"Why are you…?" He gestured towards her clothes, hoping she'd understand the rest of the question.

"I was – it was warm, Sir." she answered, still a little short of breath.

Roy quickly knelt down beside her, tossing his sleeping mat and blanket aside. He was wearing a lot more than her and even he was getting cold. The desert was freezing at night. He quickly grew concerned. He leaned towards her, reaching out and touching one of her arms. As he suspected, it was cold to the touch.

"That's probably the whiskey, Lieutenant. You'll catch your -"

That's when he smelled it.

Something musky and sweet hit his nose. It was barely there, but it smelled vaguely like honey-dipped grapes. He knew that smell. Not _exactly_ that smell, but he'd smelled something like it plenty of times before. It was completely unmistakable.

Everything clicked into place; why her face was so red, why her arms had darted above the blanket when her entered. Why she wanted the private room. Why Breda and Havoc were giving her a hard time…

 _Those noises_.

He looked at her amber eyes again, looking past the panic and surprise and seeing something more… primal.

His eyes bulged. He could feel the huge smile creep across his face, and he could hear his own voice, low and steady with a hint of mischief.

"Lieutenant," he breathed, the smell still sweet in the air. "Am I interrupting something?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean for this to take so long! I made it extra long and worthy of the M rating to make up for the delay.**

 **As you can probably tell from my profile, this is my first fanfic. It's also my first time writing anything like _this_ , so please do review or fav it if you like it, because I have no idea if I did a good job or not.**

 **Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and everyone who followed/fav'd the story! It means a lot!**

 **On with the show...**

* * *

 _"Am I interrupting something?"_

Riza Hawkeye wished she could be anywhere else in this moment.

She would have preferred to be passed out beside the rest of the team. She would have preferred to be outside in the cold. Hell, she'd rather have been still in that ridiculously uncomfortable hospital bed with doctors prodding at her neck than be lying here.

Mustang was crouched over her, eyes glinting and smiling like an idiot. His hand was on her arm – her _naked_ arm – and he smelled like whiskey and sweat. She knew from his face, the second that stupid grin played on his lips, that he had noticed what she had been up to before he entered. Her face felt warm and the rest of her was now numb, frozen in shock. She gaped at the question, unsure of how to respond. Finally, she set her jaw and frowned at him.

"I don't know what you mean, Sir" she said firmly, lifting herself up to a seated position, making sure not to let her grip slip from the sheets.

His smile didn't falter. "Come now, Lieutenant, don't make me say it out loud."

"Say what out loud?" her voice was a little higher than she would have liked, but she managed to keep it even. She stopped her lip from quivering.

Mustang laughed low in his throat. She'd heard that laugh before. It was sinister and playful with a hint of something else. It was the kind of laugh he used on his dates, and a few times on her when she was sent into missions as Elizabeth. She saw his eyes travel down her blanket-covered body again before returning to her own. He cleared his throat spiritedly before raising his voice to a near-shout.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, before I entered this room, were you or were you not _mmmph_ " the rest came out as a mumble as Riza's hand flew up to cover his mouth. She didn't want to hear him say it. She certainly didn't want any of the others to hear him say it. She could feel herself get redder by the second.

Mustang's eyes bulged even bigger with joy, and she could feel his smile grow wider under her palm. "You _were_!" he whispered loudly when she took her hand off his mouth, keeping it on his chin in case he had another outburst.

"I don't know what on earth you're talking about, _Sir._ " she said through gritted teeth, brow furrowed in a scornful glare.

"Hawkeye…" his smile fell into a lopsided smirk as he raised his arm and gently placed his hand on top of hers, sandwiching it between his own hand and his chin. His hand was warm, and it touched hers so gently that her breath caught in her throat. He leaned in closer to her, eyes still playful, and whispered in a low, husky voice:

"Your fingers are still wet."

She pulled her hand away as if it had been burned. Mustang pulled away from her and closed his eyes while he laughed.

* * *

Roy knew he was playing a dangerous game.

When he had first realised what exactly he had walked in on, he was able to use the copious amounts of alcohol in his system to excuse the inappropriate question that blurted out of his mouth.

The frantic look in her eyes when he asked if he was interrupting spurned him to keep teasing her, and he could quickly dismiss that decision by blaming the alcohol too.

But now…

Now she had shown her hand, so to speak.

He had managed to shake the most unshakeable person he knew. She looked uncertain and vulnerable and… _God_ , if he wiped his tongue over his lips he would be able to _taste_ her. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks were blushed and she looked like a scared lamb.

And he felt like a wolf.

He wasn't sure how to approach the new information he just received. He only knew that while the smart thing to do would be to apologize for disturbing her and leave, he wasn't interested in doing the smart thing. He wanted to have a little more fun.

"Don't be embarrassed," he said, letting his gaze slip down to her hands. Her knuckles were white as she gripped onto the blanket fiercely. "Everyone has… needs." He looked back into her eyes, but she had diverted her gaze to the ground. He continued.

"You weren't planning on doing paperwork at all!" he accused, still smiling as he let out a couple of tutting noises. "Trying to trick me into paying you overtime, huh?"

She didn't say a word, didn't look away from the ground beside him. He decided to push a little further.

"And there I was trying to offer to help." He contorted his face into a mock-pout. "No wonder you were so quick to turn me down."

No reaction. He smiled again, knowing that what he would say next would be sure to rile her up.

"…So what were you thinking about?"

There it was. Her gaze snapped back up to meet him, hair swaying from the flip of her head, eyes looking like they were about to pop out of her skull. He didn't know why he was having so much fun getting a reaction like this out of her.

"What?" she asked sharply, her voice almost a shout.

He shrugged, which he could tell infuriated her even more. "Had to be thinking about something. I don't think even you could get off without using your imagination at least." He bit back a laugh as the blood drained from her face at his words, before she was red again, a furious glint in her eye.

"I really think you should consider not talking anymore." she warned.

"Come on, I won't tell anyone!" he pleaded, but he knew he wasn't going to get an answer out of her. Still, he liked to tease her, to watch her face flush and hear her breath catch.

He was genuinely curious as to what she had been fantasising about, even if she wouldn't tell him. He was more curious as to the _technique_ of it all. Was she as utilitarian in something this personal as she was with everything else? Was she the type to just try to bring herself to orgasm as quickly as possible and get on with the night? No. She had taken off her clothes first. Not exactly something you'd do if you were just interested in getting it over with. So, she had to have had at least some ceremony to it. Did she go slow, letting her body feel the building heat as she touched herself? He began to imagine the possibilities.

Maybe she let her mind do some of the work for the first few minutes before she put a hand on herself. Maybe she used her hands to stroke her body. Maybe she cupped her breasts in both hands, letting her fingers brush over her nipples until she was wet. Maybe she still made herself wait, teasing herself with touches until she couldn't take it anymore, and she spread her legs a little further, letting one of her hands slide slowly down her stomach until _finally_ …

Roy no longer felt cold.

The sighs he had heard on the other side of the door now echoed in his ears, and he heard them in their new context. She had been moaning. She had been _making herself_ moan. Roy stopped a groan of his own from sliding up his throat at the thought.

"Colonel!" Roy jolted back into attention when he heard her sharp tone. He looked at her. She was still furious. He wanted to feel guilty for his comments, for making her feel this embarrassed. But his head was swimming in liquor and surprise and echoes of her breathy moans and he couldn't bring himself to regret his teasing.

He also had tomorrow to worry about. If he left now, he knew he would wake up tomorrow to see that she had put up every possible defence. She would be curt and polite and overtly-professional and he would realise that she would never let him catch her off-guard again. She would refuse any future drinks or nights hanging out with him or the team. She would never relax around any of them. But if he stayed; kept trying to tease her or ask her personal questions like he has been, he may get murdered in the process. At the very least, she would probably hit him. She would never report him; he knew she was the only person in the world who wanted him to become the Fuhrer just as much as he did. But she might request a transfer, and he honestly knew that would have the same effect. He wouldn't get anywhere without her working for him. With him. His entire personal and professional life with his Lieutenant – the blanket-clad woman in front of him who was trying to will herself out of existence – depended entirely on his next actions.

He smirked at her again, suppressing a laugh when his smirk seemed to make her even angrier.

"I get it, I get it. You weren't doing anything," he conceded. Her face seemed to soften at that, he could see the relief she felt that he was dropping it like she asked.

"No Sir," she replied.

"I must be imagining things."

"Yes Sir."

"And you took your clothes off because you were warm," her jaw stiffened and the relief on her face morphed into a wary frown when she realised he wasn't letting it go quite as easily as she thought.

"Yes, Sir," she answered slowly.

"Your fingers were probably wet from sweat..."

"Yes Sir."

"…On account of how warm you were."

"Yes Sir."

He let the silence hang in the air before his smile widened.

"So you won't mind if I sleep in here tonight." He did not inflect his voice, this was not a question. Her eyes flashed in surprise again.

"Why would you-"

"Like I said before Lieutenant," he interrupted, trying to make his expression as serious as he could. He was failing; he could feel the smile tugging at his lips. "My room was destroyed in the sandstorm. You can't possibly expect your commanding officer to bunk with the rest while there's a private room, can you?" He stifled his laughter again as she scrambled to hide her anger behind a stony expression.

" _No, Sir"_ she said quietly. He turned away from her, rolling his sleeping mat out beside hers. He made a show out of adjusting it so it was directly beside hers, the edges touching. He could see her blanket shift slightly as her legs fidgeted uncomfortably. He turned to face her again.

"Still, you won the room fair and square, so I'll be kind." His mind was screaming at him to shut up, but he ignored it. "You can stay here too if you want."

A glint of surprise swept across her face again before it was quickly replaced by a scorning glare that Roy would have been afraid of if he was sober.

"Sir, I think it would be highly inappropriate if we were to share a room."

He shrugged, trying to keep his voice even and impassive. "Your call. Hawkeye. Stay or leave." He lay his pillow on the sleeping mat before lying down and pulling his blanket over himself. He made sure to "accidentally" bump his leg against hers as he adjusted, feeling her muscles stiffen, before pulling away from her completely and nestling into his pillow and closing his eyes.

He kept his ears open, waiting for the sound of rustling that would indicate she was leaving. After a few seconds, he realised that there was complete silence. He opened his eyes curiously and saw that she hadn't moved. She was still sitting up, blankets clenched under her arms, hair disheveled and hiding some of her face. She was looking down at him. He swallowed thickly, trying to suppress the thought that _this was actually a really nice sight_ to open his eyes to, and said:

"Is something the matter, Lieutenant?"

She opened her mouth to speak, pausing for just a second and averting her eyes from his before quietly mumbling.

"My clothes, Sir."

He looked behind himself, to the nightdress and slacks on the floor. He realised that she must have thrown them aside. They were too far out of her reach to get from her bed, and he was now lying between her and the clothes. She would have to get up in order to pick them up. She would have to get up in order to pick them up. She would have to get up in order to pick them up.

She would have to _stand up, completely naked, with him in the room_ and _walk past him and over to them_ in order to pick them up.

He shook the image from his mind and smiled up at her.

"You afraid I'll peek?"

Her eyes met his again and he could see the hesitation.

"I… I can't leave the room without my clothes, Sir," she said, so softly he could barely hear her. He understood the implication though. He could easily turn around, grab the clothes from the comfort of his own mat and pass them to her.

"Well, that settles it then." he said, eyes gleaming playfully as he shifted once more, nuzzling into his bed comfortably and closing his eyes.

* * *

 _The nerve of that man!_

Riza huffed another angry breath, pulling the blankets further under her chin as she huddled her legs closer to her chest. Her back was to him, and with every small movement she was extremely careful not to touch him.

She wanted to turn around and wake him up, just to scream at him for having the audacity to do this. But if she were to yell at him, she would have to admit that she was…

 _UGH!_

There was no way in hell she was going to admit to what she was doing before the Colonel walked in.

She was so angry at herself for letting herself get riled up when he teased her. She was especially mad at him for barging into her room without even so much as knocking. She was mad that she felt so embarrassed. It was her own damn room on her own damn time! She had every right to be doing what she was doing, and she had every right to her privacy while she did it. Now she was sleeping beside her boss, embarrassed and angry and _really cold_ unable to leave the room because she had stupidly decided to take all of her clothes off before getting under the covers.

She was mostly angry – though she would never admit it to herself – that she had been interrupted in the first place. Until the bet with the team, she hadn't even considered how long it had been since she'd had some release. The past while had been so out-of-this-world busy that it had never occurred to her that she was this high-strung. But once she had won the bet, she realised it had been a while, and with the stress of her transfers, kidnapping trying to help save the damn world and recovering from near-death, she knew that a stress-release would do her good. It wouldn't fix all of her problems, of course. But it would have at least helped her to feel a little more human.

After drinking with her co-workers, she had all but forgotten why she had wanted the room. It was a good night, she had enjoyed herself thoroughly and she was ready to go to sleep and wake up full of regret in the morning. But the knowing comments from Havoc and Breda as she retired had reminded her, and while she was frustrated with them for bringing it up in barely-coded jokes, she had also decided that what the hell, she deserved this, she won the right fair and square and she might not get time to herself for another while.

She was barely able to roll out the mat and blankets before she collapsed into its minimal comfort. The setting wasn't ideal and in her drunken state she had gotten undressed, not worried about the biting cold. When she had gone under the covers, she began slowly, like she would have at home. She ran her hands up and down her legs first as she sat, allowing the sensitive skin of her thighs to feel the warmth of her hands. She lay down, letting her back rub against the cool mat as she stretched herself out. Closing her eyes, she ran her fingers up and down her sides before taking a breast in each hand. The alcohol in her system was making the tactile experience that much warmer. She marveled at how long it had been since something other than clothing touched her breasts. She squeezed them experimentally, as if getting used to the feeling of them again, before rubbing her thumbs along her nipples. She could feel her breathing get shallower as she began to play with her nipples, and she let the blanket shift down to her waist so the cold air could hit them with just the right intensity.

She played with her breasts for a few more minutes until her thighs were squeezing together involuntarily, trying to release some of the built-up pressure. She let go of one of her breasts, using her newly-freed hand to explore her skin until it reached her folds. She was already wet when she gently slid two fingers inside herself. She let out a small moan. She felt so sensitive, this neglected part of her body throbbed with nerves that hadn't been stimulated in so long. Her hips started to roll forward and back slowly, until she took her fingers out and let them travel back up her folds, spreading the wetness, until they reached her clit. The relief of finally touching the bundle of nerves was replaced with a different kind of building pressure as she began to rub it slowly in a circular motion.

She had heard a door open, but she knew it wasn't her door. She briefly thought that it must have been the Colonel going to his own room. Had she been sober, that would have been the end of her deliberations on the Colonel. But because she had been drinking, her filter for thought wasn't as strong as usual. Suddenly images were flashing through her head. The hand at her breast was replaced by his mouth, her thumb's flicking of her nipple was now his tongue. It was suddenly his fingers between her legs, setting up a steady pace as they gently rubbed over her most sensitive area. She released another moan, louder than the last, speeding up her hand as the heat spread through her and her stomach coiled in pleasure.

She was close _so close_ , when she heard her own door swing open and her reflexes kicked in, taking her hands away from her body and scrambling to pull the covers over herself properly. She saw him, the person she was just thinking about in very unprofessional circumstances, standing over her and muttering something about his room. She could barely hear over the sound of her pulse throbbing in her ears and the white noise that filled her senses as she struggled to come to terms that _he was in her room_ and _she was just_ …

Riza exhaled another huff of frustration, clamping her thighs together. Great, not only did she feel furious and humiliated. She was also frustrated.

"What's wrong?" The voice was so close she could feel his breath on her neck and she almost jumped in surprise. She turned around, careful not to touch him or to let the blanket slip and faced him. His eyes were wide open and he was smirking that stupid, knowing grin.

"Pardon?"

"I can hear you wiggling about. And you just harrumphed. What's wrong?"

She shifted uncomfortably under his inquisition. "Nothing, Sir."

He raised an eyebrow incredulously, expecting her to answer him again. Instead, she countered with a question of her own, trying not to seem too defensive.

"Why are you still awake, Sir?"

* * *

 _Because I can't stop thinking about you making yourself come_.

Roy shook off the answer. Too crass, maybe. "Just thinking."

"About?"

He let out a short laugh. "Just so many questions, Lieutenant."

Her gaze hardened but she didn't respond, knowing not to take the bait. He continued anyway.

"Is this why Havoc and Breda were giving you a hard time?"

She didn't answer, but a small twitch of her lips was all the answer he needed.

"Do you talk about masturbation with them often?"

Anger flashed in her eyes and her jaw clenched.

"Hey, hey, don't look at me that way!" he defended. "I have no idea what you all talk about in private." She didn't respond.

Roy had fully intended to drop the subject after he had refused to give her back her clothes. He was going to lie down, think up some damage-control he could do the next morning and hopefully leave everything back to normal by the time they were ready to go home. But he wasn't able to get the images out of his mind, and so he stayed awake, willing himself to just forget about it and leave her alone.

When he heard her stirring though, he had realised that she wasn't sleeping either. And when she turned around to face him, a million questions flooded his mind. _Why do you feel comfortable talking about this kind of thing to the guys but not to me? How did that conversation even start? Do you touch yourself often? When I offered to help with paperwork, what did you think I was talking about? For God's sake I need to know, what were you imagining when you touched yourself? Was it one of the guys you used to date? Are you currently dating anyone? Do you have a partner? Were you thinking about your partner? Wait, why are you still awake?_

"Did you finish?"

He hadn't even noticed that he said the last question out loud until he saw her eyes widen in surprise. She averted her gaze and her frown softened into something else. Embarrassment, maybe? Realisation hit Roy like a train.

"Oh."

That's why she was still awake, even though it had been hours since he had walked in on her. The sun was starting to come up by now, he just noticed when he easily saw the red creep up her cheeks. He had laid there for hours thinking about her touching herself and she had lay there for hours thinking about how she hadn't finished. He scoffed softly. She must have been feeling so tense all night. Riza Hawkeye - the woman he has adored since before she was even a woman yet - had been lying beside him for hours, horny and frustrated and he was too busy working himself up to notice.

 _Damage-control be damned_.

"You should finish."

He had to hand it to her, she hid her surprise well. One quick glare and she was suddenly turning around again, lying with her back to him.

"I'm serious, Lieutenant." He sat up, craning over her and trying to get her attention back on him.

"Go to sleep, Sir," she warned, her voice low. He leaned further, being sure not to touch her as he hovered over her. Her eyes were squeezed shut, strands of her golden hair covering some of her face.

"I can't. And neither can you." He smiled again, knowing that she couldn't see his smile with her eyes squeezed shut, but willing her to feel it. "The energy in this room is too… tense. You need to relax before we end up getting no sleep at all."

She opened her eyes, meeting his instantly. She must have sourced that he had moved closer to her from his voice. He resisted the urge to sweep his fingers over her face, brushing away the errant hairs that partially hid her from him. She was still lying on her side, but she twisted her neck and her face was facing the ceiling, facing his face.

"You can always sleep elsewhere if you don't like the energy here, Colonel," she said. "Or just give me my clothes."

He chuckled. "That wouldn't help _you_ , though." He had crossed the line hours ago, and while he was starting to sober up, his head was still dizzy and very much opposed to filtering his thoughts. "I _have_ to stay and make sure my adjutant gets some sleep. I can't guarantee that if I leave, you won't just stew here in your…" _juices_ "…frustration." He hadn't noticed that he was leaning closer to her until he saw her eyes widen, her face suddenly far closer to his. "You can't drive if you're exhausted, and you've already wriggled your way out of finishing the paperwork" he teased, delighting in the pinch of her nose and the flush of her cheeks. He extended his arm to place a hand on the floor beside her, anchoring himself until he was hovering so close to her face, their noses almost touched. He lowered his voice to a near whisper.

"I'll have to supervise you this time. Make sure you _finish_ your work."

He watched her swallow thickly, the cracks in her stony expression starting to show.

"Sir, what you are suggesting is highly inappropriate and illegal." Her voice came out scratchy and thick, and if she had meant for her words to deter him, she had cancelled out its effect with her tone. His smile didn't waver.

"Not at all, Lieutenant. I've read the frat policies." It was true, he read them over and over and over again. It was practically a weekly ritual, ever since she began working under him. He would read them and will the words to dispel any indecent thoughts he had towards her.

He would repeat them in his head like a mantra when he saw her in civilian clothing, or when she smiled a genuine smile, or just a few hours ago. When she danced lazily and drunkenly in a room filled with his own drunken team and he had to stop himself from pulling her onto his lap and guiding her hips to repeat the same circular motions against his. He pushed down the thought and continued.

"The policies mention sex and relationships. I don't think they have much standing if I'm not the one touching you." He saw her stern look soften and _how had he not noticed_ the frustration in her eyes earlier? He's seen it in his own reflection plenty of times. She was desperate for release.

"Colonel-"

"Finish yourself, Lieutenant," he cut her off with a purr.

There was a pregnant pause, eyes meeting eyes. The silence was long enough for his brain to catch up with his words. Suddenly, over the sound of his own quickening heartbeat he could hear his thoughts. _What the hell is wrong with you? Run you idiot! You've ruined everything, get out before you-_

His heart stopped along with his thoughts when her eyes closed, hands slipping under the covers. She rolled onto her back, face closer to his than ever, and lifted her knees from the mat until they were bent, feet planted on the mat. Her knees opened.

* * *

He moved away from her face, keeping his upper body leaning towards hers, to look down at her body. It was completely covered by her blanket but he could see the movement of her hands down her body. One hand stopped at her chest while the other traveled lower. She was spread eagle in front of him. When his thoughts came back, they had stopped admonishing him. Instead they sounded like a chorus of cheering; cheering that he hadn't fucked up. Cheering that he was watching – however obscured – his second-in-command's hand slow as it reached between her legs, before it almost hesitantly settled there.

He looked back at her face. Her eyes were still closed, lips slightly parted before she drew her bottom lip between her teeth and let out a long, satisfied exhale. Part of him could die happy, right now, knowing that the last thing he saw was her face as she pleasured herself. Another part of him needed to see more.

Her hands now occupied, he gently took the edge of the blanket in his hand and lifted it away from her body, careful still not to touch her. He saw her body freeze and her muscles tense, but she did not open her eyes.

"Have to make sure you're not just pretending," he explained teasingly. As he slowly peeled the blanket off her, he could see goosebumps raise on her skin. It was still cold, but with the dawn coming it had started to warm up. When the blanket uncovered her breasts, he paused to watch one hand cradling her left breast while her right nipple tightened with the cool air. He could hear her breath hitch at the sensation, at the same time his own hitched at the sight. He continued to uncover her skin, shifting until he was on his knees so he could twist his hand comfortably as it crept down her body. Still not touching her, never touching her, he consciously avoided looking at anything but her knees and calves until he had the blanket completely off her. He shifted backwards on his knees and withdrew himself away from her until he could see all of her.

To her credit, she did not try to cover herself, or shy away from the exposed air. Her lithe, muscular body was completely bare to him and he felt drunk at the sight of her. He saw the curves of her body that her clothing always teased at, his eyes lazily tracing her hips, her ribcage, her breasts, her neck. He saw the long, clean scar of her neck and pushed down the immense guilt that rose up in his throat like bile. There would be plenty of time for guilt later. The slight animation of her shoulders quickly reminded him that her arms were moving, her wrists, her hands. He traced his eyes down her arm to the hand that was not at her breast. It was between her legs, but too far down her body for him to see clearly. His blood warmed as it rushed through him, and he was practically panting as he watched her hand's gentle movements.

In his periphery, he could see her hand on her breast squeeze harder, his eyes darted back up to her face. He watched as her teeth released her bottom lip and her mouth opened wider. Her breathing stopped for just a second before he heard her release it in a soft moan. The same moan that he heard on the other side of the door. The same moan that brought him here. The moan he had misread before, now telling him plainly that she was euphoric.

He threw his own blanket off his body as he scrambled from his own mat, crawling alongside her until he was kneeling between her legs. The hard ground scraped against his knees uncomfortably. He didn't notice.

He watched her hand move back and forth, two fingers disappearing and re-appearing from his view as she fucked herself. He could see them get coated in her, _hear_ the slickness of herself as they entered her again and again. His chest began to heave as he took in shaky breaths and his blood drained from his brain, pooling beneath his stomach. His cock was twitching, his loose pyjama bottoms tightening as he got harder.

Her hand suddenly stopped and it took all of his effort not to bark an order at her to keep going. But they didn't stay still for long; she didn't need to be ordered. She withdrew her fingers and slowly raised them to stroke up and down her folds, coating them in her juices and parting them enough for her fingers to glide between. Raising them a little further, she rested the for a moment on her clit and – with another quiet moan – began to circle them slowly over the nub.

He was suddenly frustrated, angry even. She was being too quiet. He was breathing almost as heavily as she was moaning. He could tell from every other part of her body that she was enjoying this, getting off on touching herself.

"You're holding out," he growled. She paused her ministrations momentarily. He took it as a cue that she was listening and continued.

"You're trying to be quiet. You're thinking too much, Lieutenant." he elaborated.

Her knees fell together, trying much too late to hide herself from him. "There are other people in this building, Sir."

 _Fuck them,_ he wanted to shout. _You shouldn't be thinking about them at all. You should be thinking about your body, making it feel good. You should be thinking about me…_

Instead, he chuckled low in his throat. "Maybe don't scream, but there's a big gap between screaming and making no noise." He lifted his eyes, but her knees were blocking his view of her face. "We're not in church, Hawkeye. Relax."

There was short pause before her knees slowly re-opened, and her fingers began to move again. She dipped her fingers inside herself just once before spreading the fresh moisture to her clit again. This time, her moan was a little louder – less restrained – and he felt it vibrating through his entire body. She moaned again as her hips thrusted gently under her hand. And again as she began to rock them slowly. Her fingers and her hips found a rhythm, and they sped up in tandem as sighs and mewls spilled from her lips in higher and higher pitches. He released a low moan of his own; half-growl, half-purr when her hips and back arched completely off the ground, fingers rubbing her clit harder and harder.

Quickly, he moved again, scrambling back onto his sleeping mat and twisting his body until his face was hovering over hers. Her eyes were squeezed shut, face contorted in pleasure and lips quivering as she gasped in pleasure.

Then suddenly, as if time had frozen, she stopped breathing mid-inhale and her mouth stopped moving and her brow smoothed out. Seconds later, time resumed and she released a long, low moan, face flushed pink and breath shuddering.

She was coming, her face unraveling beneath his gaze. He watched her face as she came, heard her loud gasps and moans, smelled her desire in the air. It smelled of sweat and honey and half of sex. He breathed it in greedily, committing it to memory along with every sound, every crease in her face, every second he spent in this room watching her touch herself. As her body continued to thrum and pulse beneath him, he felt his own sensory euphoria, and for a moment, nothing existed outside of this room.

Her hips and back lowered back onto the mat. Her breathing evened out, the flush of her face in pleasure died down before it was replaced by a slightly redder blush. In the back of his mind, he acknowledged that she was coming back down, back to her senses, beginning to feel embarrassed.

Her eyes slowly opened, meeting his. There was embarrassment and shyness in them, but they glowed in a way he had never seen before. He knew so much about her, could tell from the look in her eyes when she was upset, when she was amused despite herself, when she was relaxed. This was something else. She looked more than just shy. More than just beautiful.

She looked _fucking hot_.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Did someone say "over 3,000 words of pure smut"? I sure hope so, otherwise I have wasted a lot of time! Let me know if you like it, or if you have tips for a novice smut writer like myself!**

 **Please, please, enjoy! And this isn't quite over yet, I'm thinking one or two more chapters should wrap the story up neatly. I need to at least bring more Riza POV into the story, most of it has been taken up by Roy at this point.**

* * *

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck._

The word repeated itself in her head, even as the aftershocks of her orgasm rippled through her body. Every repetition of the word seemed to have a different inflection. A different meaning.

 _Fuck_ that was reckless. _Fuck_ that was stupid. How the _fuck_ did he manage to convince her to do this? _Fuck_ , that was a mistake.

 _Fuck that was so, so good._

She was confused and delighted by how good she felt. She reckoned the build-up of pressure contributed to the hard release: first her dry spell, followed by her bringing herself close to the edge and then waiting hours before she could get herself there. Her body was now humming with a satisfaction that felt long overdue.

The other main contributor was him, of course. Her eyes were closed and he hadn't touched her once but she could faintly feel his breath as he maneuvered around her body to watch, could feel his eyes on her. She hadn't been brave enough to open her eyes once, knowing that she would probably lose her nerve if she did. But he was there and he was watching her and judging from his laboured breathing, he was _enjoying_ watching her. She'd never done anything like that before. She never expected something like this could be so… sensual.

As the last spasm throbbed from her body, she opened her eyes, instantly meeting his. He was in the same position as when she first closed her eyes, as if he hadn't moved an inch since she began. She knew he did, of course, but the full-circle effect of seeing him looking no different (just more serious and a little more disheveled) threw her off-guard; as if none of what just happened actually happened. As if she had just blinked and imagined the whole thing.

But his eyes told the story. They were amazed and dark and hungry, and they held an intensity she had only seen in a diluted form before. He has shown his want for her in his eyes before, but this was so much stronger. This was need.

 _Fuck!_

She swallowed to wet her drying throat, waiting for him to say something. She felt like she couldn't say a word right now, but he might have something intelligent to contribute to these new waters they had just treaded. Maybe he could string together a coherent thought.

"Fuck, Riza."

Maybe not.

* * *

Her name was slightly foreign on his tongue but he couldn't register it properly. She was looking up at him with a tinge of nervousness like she was close to regretting this, close to feeling _embarrassed_ and he wanted to scream because she should not feel embarrassed by this. She's always been the smart one, resisting the small attempts he made to flirt or get close to her. He's been thankful for that so far; he was never going to have the same restraint that she was able to show, and they needed that strength while they worked together to fulfill their goals. Their goals were still nowhere near finished, he hasn't even been promoted from Colonel yet, never mind making Fuhrer. But _she just fucking touched herself_ in front of him and his head was swimming and he felt like he was drowning but he also felt like he was able to _breathe_ for the first time in years. He needed her to not get embarrassed, not withdraw into herself before he got the chance to… to…

He could see the brief moment of surprise flash in her eyes as he shifted away, and suddenly he found himself kneeling between her legs again. He moved back to the same position he was in moments ago when she was bringing herself closer and closer to the edge. Her hand was resting on the bottom of her stomach now, and he briefly saw her legs begin to shut before he saw his own hands reaching out, grabbing her thighs and pulling them apart again. God, she was so soft. It briefly registered with him that this was his first time touching her naked body, and his touch was rough but her body was impossibly soft. He ran his hands up and down her inner thighs a couple of times, marveling in her muscular legs as they twitched under his hands, and he looked up at her.

The shock was still there in her face as she returned his gaze. But her thighs stayed apart when he softened his grip and he searched her eyes for confirmation that she wanted this too. It took a moment for the surprise to wear off, and it was replaced by a shyness as she gave a quick, tiny nod.

He didn't have the patience to be slow. The second he was given the all-clear, his head dove between her legs and he tasted her for the first time. She tasted how she smelled, sweet and musky and surprisingly mild, like flavoured water. He lapped up the juices between her folds as his hands continued to rub her thighs excitedly. He could feel her head drop back as she sighed in pleasure, the noise spurring him on further.

He lay the flat of his palms against her hips and dove his tongue inside her. Her hips canted slightly and he moaned into her, causing her hips to buck again. He grabbed her hips, thumbs squeezing into the dip of her pubic bone and pushed her down forcefully. He could feel her muscles twitch as she tried to stop moving, and he stopped moving his tongue until she stilled.

This was air, breathing her in like this, drinking her. Any skill or rhythm that he has learned over the years was completely forgotten as his tongue desperately explored her, trying to taste and feel all of the parts of her that were strictly no-access until this moment. His grip on her hips softened and his thumbs circled the skin of her stomach as he ran his hands up her sides. If he was able to think straight, he'd be embarrassed at his rough, clumsy movements that had no consistency or ceremony. But he couldn't think about anything except for the fact that she tasted so good, felt so soft, and was moaning again. He was making her moan this time. Not her, not any of her previous lovers. _Him_. Her boss, her childhood friend, the man who has wanted this since he knew what _this_ was and was finally touching her in the ways he's forced himself not to think about for years.

She was holding back again, trying to be quiet, but he didn't have the strength to lift his face from her to tell her off again. Instead, he let his mouth play with her folds, sucking them together into his mouth before releasing them and using his tongue to part them again. He could vaguely feel her body above him shifting, and he looked up to see her chest rise and fall as her breath gets shorter. He let his hands slide up further until they were cupping her breasts and he could feel her arch into him as she moaned a little louder. He returned the noise with a groan of his own and his tongue traveled further until it was sliding across her clit. She gasped at the pressure before releasing a long, low-pitched moan.

She was squirming beneath him and he knew he was maybe being a bit too rough but when he tried to pull away she fucking _whined,_ and he never thought he'd hear such a feminine, petulant noise from her lips. He would have laughed at the sound, but it was just too sexy to be funny. He pushed his face further down and sucked her clit into his mouth. His teeth accidentally grazed her clit and he was worried he'd hurt her until he heard her moaning again. He let his teeth touch her again, and she responded with another moan. And again, just to make sure. The sounds coming from her confirmed it; she liked it. He took a chance and gently nibbled the skin surrounding her clit, and soon she was bucking her hips again. He gently sucked the skin to sooth it, before lifting his lips from her and letting his tongue flick back and forth over her clit.

Suddenly her fingers were brushing through his hair and he groaned as she gently grasped the hairs on the back of his head. Flicking his tongue faster, her grip on him tightened and her legs began to close in on his head until her thighs were squeezing the sides of his head and he was completely surrounded by her skin. She was moaning louder but he could barely hear her as her thighs blocked the sound. But his hands on her chest rose and fell with her breathing, which was becoming shorter and shorter until he felt her panting beneath him.

He squeezed her breasts harder before sucking on her clit, swiping his tongue back and forth over the tip, and her body vibrated in pleasure. The sound of her cries was still muffled to his ears, but she was unmistakably coming beneath him. He hummed against her, letting her ride the waves of her orgasm as he lapped up her juices and fondled her breasts. When she relaxed her legs, giving his head room to move, he gave her one last lick before crawling up her body. He used a knee to spread her legs further and pressed his hips to hers before lifting them away again. He rested one arm beside her head and slid his other hand down her stomach to take his mouth's place, rubbing and circling her clit.

He swallowed a laugh at her wide eyes when he touched her again, nuzzling his face in the crook of her neck to hide his smirk from her. He tasted the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her soft skin as her hair tickled his nose. She brought her hands under the hem of his shirt and he could feel his stomach muscles twitching at her touch. Her hands were calloused and bumpy, but the skin was smooth and her touch was almost soft enough to tickle. He could feel the sweat cooling his skin where his shirt had been lifted, and he withdrew from her just enough to lift the shirt over his head before he fell back into position, his head buried in her neck. This time, he let his fingers travel lower, one finger gently spreading the wetness around her entrance until her hips thrust up and his finger was inside her. They both let out a groan at the feeling.

She was so tight and impossibly wet and her breathing was picking up again as he pumped his finger in and out in tandem with her breaths. He lowered his head further, trailing kisses along her collarbone and on top of her breasts. Her hands slipped from his stomach to his shoulder-blades as he moved, rubbing up and down either side of his spine, causing him to shiver. He stopped to look up at her again, but her neck was stretched and he could only see her chin.

"You know, when I was blind…" he began, feeling her body tighten at the sound of his voice. He knew it was a bad time to bring up painful memories, but he couldn't help himself. He pressed a reassuring kiss on her sternum.

"When I was blind, one of my first thoughts were that I would never see Riza Hawkeye naked."

He heard a stifled laugh emanate from her as her muscles relaxed, and he chuckled into her skin as well. He had felt silly when he thought it; it was such a ridiculous time to have worried about something like that when he was in the belly of the beast. Not that he was probably going to die, or that he wouldn't see her face, or that he would be useless in the military, but that he never saw her naked and now he never would. It had been a fleeting thought, and he hadn't thought about it since, but now he had seen her, and was touching her, and she was touching him back, and he thanked the universe for Dr. Marcoh's gesture of faith.

He took one of her nipples in his mouth and bit down gently, hearing her hiss as she wriggled underneath him. He added a second finger inside her and soothed her nipple with his tongue. Her breasts were so perfect and soft and her core was hot and tightening around his fingers. His fingers sped up and questions began flooding his mind. Why had they waited so long to do this? How did he make it through years without knowing how her body felt, or how her moans sounded, or how her face looked when she came? He closed his eyes and the image of her touching herself seemed imprinted, picture-perfect, onto the back of his eyelids. If he had shut the window in his own room earlier, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have known what the noises on the other side of the door were, and probably would have passed out peacefully, never having known that she was in the next room using her fingers to bring herself to an orgasm. The thought put another question in his head.

"What were you thinking about?" he mumbled against her skin. There was no teasing in the question this time.

He felt her lift her head to look down at him, her hands pausing against his shoulders.

"What?"

"Earlier. Before I walked in." He moved his head to her other breast and licked her hardened nipple.

She released a moan and dropped her head back onto the ground, hips thrusting against his fingers. He paused his movements, fingers still knuckle-deep inside her.

"Tell me," he growled as she gasped in objection. She was close, probably aching, and when her hips rolled again he bit the skin around her nipple as punishment. She gasped again. He could feel her body warm with a blush and she paused before finally whispering an answer.

"This."

He stifled a groan at the answer. _Fuck_ , that was the hottest thing he ever heard. He lifted his face to meet hers. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were red, and he could tell that she wasn't lying.

"This?" he smirked, curling his fingers inside her and relishing in the sigh that fell from her lips. Her eyes opened, meeting his meekly. She nodded.

"Riza," he breathed, remembering his own body and feeling a dull pain at the pressure pooling beneath his stomach. "When you were preparing for a two-day mission to Ishval, you didn't happen to pack a condom?"

She blinked at his answer. "No."

"Me either."

He saw the disappointment in her face and almost laughed. If she thought _she_ was disappointed, he would have to come up with a whole new word for what he was feeling.

Instead, he smiled and lowered his head back to her breasts, curling his fingers inside her again and again until he had a good rhythm going and she closed her eyes and moaned. He felt her hips begin moving again to match his rhythm and the disappointment melted from him. He felt like he was dreaming, being able to touch her like this. He couldn't ask for more.

He was surprised to feel her hand push his head away from her breast, and he looked up at her as she squirmed away from his touch. He felt confused. Had she come again? He had seen her come twice now and could tell that she hadn't. She grabbed his wrist and pulled his fingers away from her and he almost glared at her for the interruption.

But then she was suddenly shifting herself to her knees and guiding his body to lay on the sleeping mat and his breath died in his throat as her hands worked down his body, pulling at the waistband of his pyjama pants. He moved his hips up as she took them off along with his underwear. Her hand tentatively reached out, almost hesitantly, and she gripped him. He groaned low in his throat as her hand moved slowly up and down the length of his shaft. She straddled his leg and ducked her head down closer to his cock, before her eyes flicked upwards to meet his questioningly.

 _Is this okay?_

The could hear it in his mind as clearly as if she said it out loud, and he understood what it meant. He said a silent prayer of thanks that he had never had sex without protection, and that his latest trip to the hospital had given him a full check-up and a clean bill of health. He nodded.

She slowly shifted to a more comfortable position, her center hot and practically dripping on his leg as her mouth inched closer and closer. She began with a tentative lick on the head and he hissed at the sensation. He'd been hard for what felt like hours by now, and the sensation was much stronger than it should have been. She licked him again a couple more times, once again on his head and once up the length of the underside, fingers still wrapped around the base of his cock. Then, very slowly, she wrapped her lips around him and her mouth enveloped him inch-by-inch.

He threw his head back when the tip touched the back of her throat. She stayed there for a moment before sliding her mouth back up and swirling her tongue on his head, before taking him back into her mouth again.

Her mouth was wet and warm and enveloped him completely and he was almost embarrassed by how close he was already. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing, willing himself not to blow his load too soon. He wanted to come, but he _needed_ for this not to be over yet. He let out raspy, ragged breaths as she increased her speed, sucking gently as her head bobbed up and down his cock.

He felt his stomach tightening as involuntary groans crept out of his throat every time she took him to the back of her throat. The pressure was building and he wasn't going to last much longer and _holy shit, she's so good at this_. He felt her grind against his leg, still hot and wet against his bare skin.

"You didn't let me finish you off." His voice was raspy and low and he barely managed to get the sentence out. She didn't miss a beat, continuing her quickening torture of his impossibly hard cock. She ground her hips against his leg again.

"Touch yourself," he growled. "Come with me."

He could feel her shifting her body to a different position, losing the contact of her core against his leg. A few seconds later, something else was brushing lightly against him, and he recognised the soft movements as her hand. Her knuckles were lightly bumping against his leg as she touched herself.

He opened his eyes and looked down at her, growling at what he saw. Her hair was covering her face as she worked her mouth up and down the length of him, and her hands were between her legs, rubbing her clit. She hummed in pleasure, the sound vibrating through her throat and surrounding his cock. _Jesus fucking Christ_ , she was so hot and she felt so good and she was going to kill him.

He gathered her hair in his hands, wrapping it around his fist and gently pulling it out of her face. He watched his dick disappear and re-appear into her mouth, her lips red and swollen as she engulfed him. He could feel her hand move quicker and her head followed suit, matching the pace. She was close. She moaned again and he lost it, throwing his head back and coming into her mouth with a loud groan. She slowed the pace as he pulsed into her mouth, sucking a little harder and causing his whole body to convulse in pleasure. He hadn't finished coming when he heard her long, low moan, and he knew that she had brought herself to orgasm as well.

For what felt like eternity, he throbbed and pulsated with pleasure, trying to catch his breath and blinking away the dots of his vision. When she released him, the air against his wet shaft almost stung. He felt her crawl up his body and rest her head on his chest. She was still panting too. He wrapped an arm around her and held her in silence until his breathing returned to normal. The sun had risen, the light glowing through the tiny closed window of her room. He breathed in the smell of her and him together, and hummed as he rubbed her arm gently.

The silence was filled by a knock. For a second, his heart stopped, before he realised that the knock wasn't on her door. Probably his, he reasoned. He could barely hear Falman's voice from this distance.

"Sir? Breda told me to make sure you were alive."

Riza looked up at him with panicked eyes.

"Yeah, I'm up. Be there in a minute!" he called back, hoping Falman wouldn't be able to tell he was shouting from another room.

"Yes Sir. And the Lieutenant…"

"I'll check in on her," he responded, smiling down at her. She returned his smile for a second, before crawling off of him and walking over to her bag.

He watched her bend down to pick up a freshly-folded uniform from her bag and let himself take in the sight of her bent over naked, before getting up and putting his shirt and pyjama bottoms back on. He picked up his sleeping mat and blanket and walked out of the room, closing it behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** **I am finally back! Miss me?**

 **So I am in the middle of college exams, but they finish up on Monday so I will have so much more time after that to dedicate to this and other works. I already have a lot of ideas and even a draft or two, and I have seen the prompts for Royai Week and will be starting to work on that soon, too. Let me know if you would rather I took on the fan-selected prompts or the mod-curated ones, I am relatively new to online fandoms so I'm not sure which ones are usually done!**

 **Before I begin this chapter I have to explain what "The Fear" is. It is an Irish term for the day after "The sesh", or a huge drinking session. It's more than just the pains of a hangover, it is the behaviour as well. So as well as staring into space and shivering even when you're warm, it also encompasses the huge feeling of regret that drinking can cause. Regret at drinking, but also the questioning of everything you did while you were drunk. In this chapter, our favourite couple are starting to experience "The Fear". Enjoy!**

* * *

By the time Riza entered the room, the men were dressed and scuffling about slowly. They looked like the walking dead, counterbalancing the liveliness of last night's impromptu party. Breda and Havoc were bleary-eyed and pale. Falman looked close to vomiting. Fuery's eyes were barely open and if a stiff breeze were to blow through the room, he looked like he would be swept away with it. None of them even lifted their heads when she opened the door.

Mustang, however, looked great. He floated around the room, picking up the empty bottles and mugs, throwing the bottles in a garbage bag and rinsing the mugs with water, before filling a kettle and putting it on the camping stove. He was smiling unconsciously, eyes sparkling in a way that made him look like he was about to burst into song. Riza was grateful for the rest of the team's compromised condition. If they were not nursing sore heads and unsteady stomachs, they would certainly catch on to the Colonel's suspicious mood.

She tried to think of the term for how her superior officer looked. Rebecca had mentioned it to her once, the word to describe how a person radiates after a sexual experience.

 _Afterglow_.

The term suited his demeaner perfectly. His skin, still covered in a thin layer of sweat, glowed with the morning sun. When his eyes met hers, his smile grew. He held her gaze for a few seconds before turning his back to her and continuing to busy around the room. Riza briefly wondered if she appeared the same way as him. She hadn't slept, but didn't feel tired or sore either. Seeing him look so relaxed and cheerful, she felt something she hadn't felt in years. She felt _giddy_.

When the kettle whistled, she walked to it and wordlessly took over the task of making coffee. The men needed it badly, and while the Colonel made a good coffee, Riza's was much better. Adding far more coffee to the mix as usual, as well as a bit of sugar in each cup to take the bitterness from it, she passed the mugs in order of necessity. One to Fuery, who took a sniff and finally opened his eyes fully. Next was Falman, who wrinkled his nose at the new scent and took a tentative sniff, worrying that his stomach would not accept the gift. Followed by Havoc, who moaned in an almost sexual way and greedily slurped the beverage. Then Breda, whose eyes showed gratitude that his grunt of acknowledgement couldn't. Lastly, she handed a mug to Mustang, who grinned as he took it, letting his fingers linger over hers before she released the mug. She ignored the warmth of his fingers that spread through her, suppressing a smile of her own as she took her own mug in both hands and took a sip.

After half an hour of idle chatter about the relief team and the things they needed to finish up, the coffee kicked in enough for everyone to get working. Fuery took up the entire table with comms equipment, so Hawkeye sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through the rest of the paperwork. There wasn't much left to do, but since they were leaving today, she had wanted to double-check all of the files to make sure they were perfect, but now wasn't sure she had the time.

She silently cursed herself for unnecessarily leaving paperwork until it was so close to deadline. It was so unlike her, this was really a first. Although thinking on it further, Riza surmised that last night was full of firsts. It was the first time she had gotten very drunk around the team. It was the first time she touched herself somewhere that wasn't her own bed. It was the first time she had touched herself _with someone else in the room_. It was the first time she touched and was touched by her Colonel in such an intimate way.

She took a quick glance around the room at the haggard faces of her team and supressed a smile. It was also the first time the team had been back together. It was their first rebuilding mission. It was their first mission that wasn't either puppeteered by Homunculi or done unofficially.

The paperwork seemed so insignificant, compared to what replaced it.

Havoc and Breda slid down to sit beside her, Havoc on her left and Breda on her right. She kept her eyes on the forms in front of her, but in her peripheral, she noticed the interruption of light, suggesting they were far closer to her than usual. Looking up, their faces were both leaned in towards her. Darting eyes between the two, they wore almost identical smiles on their faces, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

She frowned at the two of them, but their expressions didn't change. They were expecting an answer to a question that they hadn't asked. For a moment, she felt panic rise in her chest at the thought that they maybe knew more about what happened last night than they should. _I should have been quieter_. The panic lasted only seconds though, before she remembered: they were probably just trying to get a rise out of her, teasing her for what they _thought_ they knew.

"Soooo…" Havoc drawled when she refused to give anything away.

"So what?" she replied, her frown dropping to make way for a neutral face.

"Feeling good this morning, boss?" Breda elaborated. "Less… pressure?"

The two men smiled wider, leaning even closer to her as if she were about to whisper an answer to them. Her eyes lazily switched between them as she stared blankly. In truth, she was glad they were able to share these jokes again. Havoc and Breda had been best friends since she met them. Their rapport was brotherly, and she knew that when Havoc was discharged on disability, it hurt both of them to say goodbye to each other. It hurt her too, they could tease and be ignorant at times but they loved her and she loved them. Their individual strengths made them great co-workers, but their banter made them great friends.

Still, she wasn't about to talk to them about the fact that yes, she had managed to release some pressure, and she _especially_ wasn't going to tell them how.

She brought the file she had been reading up to her face for closer inspection. But not before she allowed them to see a fraction of a smile twitch at her lips.

Breda chuckled to acknowledge her answer, while Havoc slapped her on the shoulder in a congratulatory fashion. Both men leaned towards the last of the paperwork, taking some forms and settling beside her to help her finish what she had left to do.

* * *

Roy was thankful that the relief team had needed as many trucks as they could get. A cadet he hadn't met before drove them for a few hours to the nearest train station, so as they could bring the truck back with them. Roy and his team enjoyed the relative comfort of two private compartments, and taking the train meant that they would arrive in Central the next day.

He was happy with the teams that had been assembled for the first phase in Ishval, and while he wanted to stay and help to rebuild the area, he and his team had decided that having the Flame Alchemist around while the refugees were being brought to their homeland might hurt more than it helped. He would come back, in a couple of months, maybe a year. But now was a time for healing, and Roy's presence would slow that down.

He had plenty to do in Central that would help from afar, though, so he was excited to return and get started. Or at least, he _had been_ excited. He had been so excited that he hadn't even thought about the fact that he was going to have no private time for at least a week. Now that there was a possibility that his private time wouldn't be spent quite as alone as he thought, his excitement was turning into impatience.

He lay awkwardly on one of the benches, the lack of sleep finally beginning to catch up with him. He was sharing his compartment with Breda and Falman, while Hawkeye, Havoc and Fuery rested in the next compartment. He had made a conscious decision not to stay in the same place as Hawkeye, knowing that he wouldn't be able to get her alone without arousing suspicion, and if he was around her right now, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from trying to get her alone anyway.

His comrades were passed out, but even though Roy's bones ached with fatigue, his mind was still racing. Images of her body, naked and exposed and flushed with pleasure, kept appearing whenever he closed his eyes.

It had all happened so fast. Not the build-up, of course. The build-up had burned slowly for years, since he was a teenager and watched a quiet, straight tomboy grow the curves of a woman. And it wasn't that he wasn't expecting it to happen. A part of him knew since he picked her as his adjutant that they would one day stop fighting their feelings and give in to each other.

He just thought that he'd have a little bit of notice before it happened.

When he did allow himself, in moments of weakness, to imagine them together, there was always some forewarning that would precede the main event. A fight, a loophole in the rules, a confession, a date…

 _A kiss._

His eyes shot open at the thought, all hopes of falling asleep abandoned. He racked his brain, replaying the night with perfect clarity in his head over and over. _Had he really not even kissed her?_

Fuck.

He knew he had let himself get carried away. He got drunk, teased her, taken her blanket off to expose her, told her to touch herself, told her to be louder, made her come on his tongue, came in her mouth and told her to touch herself _again_. But he hadn't even thought to fucking kiss her?

God, she deserved so much better. Better than a dusty floor in a former war-zone. Better than a guy who made fun of her before having her expose herself to him. Better than a coward who told her he thought about her naked but couldn't tell her his more intimate thoughts. How he thought about waking up with her, or curling up on the couch with her in the evenings, or rubbing her shoulders when she was stiff and stressed from work.

She was completely vulnerable to him last night, and he was so focused on how hot it was, he didn't even care about how exposed she might have felt. He had wanted to show her, in the most carnal way, the effect she was having on him. But he should have been showing her that she was so much more to him than a gorgeous woman.

He sighed, letting his head drop back against the train window. Last night was a night for not thinking. Next time (if he was lucky enough to get a next time), he'll have to have put a lot more thought into how he was going to treat her.

* * *

Riza woke a few hours later, a headache finally beginning to creep through her skull. Flat on her back, she felt an arm around her waist. She glanced down, finding Fuery curled up on his side, arm thrown over her as his head snuggled into her shoulder. She twitched her arm, which caused him to snuggle in deeper, sighing gently. She moved her arm more forcefully, effectively elbowing the young soldier in the stomach.

Fuery's eyes opened slowly as he blinked the sleep from them. She watched him slowly return to consciousness before his entire body snapped to attention and he recoiled from her in terror.

"Lieutenant! I am _so_ sorry! I-" Fuery's panicked apology was interrupted by a loud, barking laugh.

Riza looked up to find the source of the laugh lying on the bench above them. Havoc was given the only bench in the compartment because it was more comfortable than the floor and he had recently had a rather serious spinal injury. From the bench, Havoc had clearly been watching the scene on the floor, waiting for Riza and Fuery to wake up and see the position they were in.

The colour drained from Fuery's face. "I wasn't trying to… I never meant to…" he deflated, unable to finish a sentence.

Havoc laughed again. "You're dead, kid. Nobody touches the Hawk's Eye."

Riza rolled her eyes. "It was clearly an accident, Sergeant. I'm not going to hurt you." After a moment, Fuery remembered to breathe again, his pale face coloured pinkish.

"Sure you don't want the bench, boss? That way you won't get molested in your sleep."

Riza sat upright, watching Fuery shrink further from her. She had shared a room with the team enough to know that Fuery was a cuddler in his sleep. If he didn't have a bed, he would roll over and find the nearest body. Fuery was a gentle person, naturally very sensitive and tactile, and though he tried to hide it when working, he couldn't help it when he slept.

"Or maybe the kid can take the bench. I'll keep my hands to myself," Havoc continued. He smiled wolfishly. "Unless…"

"Do not finish that sentence," Riza said sternly, and Havoc chuckled. Riza suppressed a sigh. Havoc had very little discipline in military etiquette from the start, and his time spent outside of the military seemed to exacerbate his borderline insubordination. She didn't have it in her to be angry about it when it was just the team, but he would have to learn to fall in line when they returned to work. She would not accept him making the Colonel look bad.

Though she didn't have a leg to stand on in that regard any more. The higher-ups would maybe grumble at Havoc's behaviour, but it was par-for-the-course within the military. _Her_ behaviour – fraternisation with a superior officer – was far more serious. At the moment, the greatest risk to the Colonel's reputation wasn't the cheeky Second Lieutenant.

Riza wordlessly got up and left, finding her way to the food carriage and ordering two black coffees. As she waited, she fought the wave of nausea that she knew stemmed from more than just a belated hangover.

Maybe last night was a mistake. It certainly didn't feel like one, not at the time. But in a few hours, they would be back in Central, and whilst the monsters had been taken care of, Central was still the Belly of the Beast. She and the Colonel had worked so hard to get this far, casting aside any inkling of a personal relationship in favour of a professional one, and so far, it _worked_. They were nowhere near finished yet. Ishval would be restored eventually, but their aims always went beyond rebuilding Ishval. They needed to make sure nothing like the Extermination ever had a chance of happening again. They were closer to that dream than ever before, and they couldn't afford to let anything come between them. Not even each other.

As she walked back towards her compartment, she passed his. She paused briefly to look in through the glass window on the door. The Colonel was on the bench, wide awake and reclining against the window. He spotted her and turned his head to see her better.

She could see it from the look on his face. There was regret in his eyes as well. She swallowed a lump in her throat and looked away, trying desperately to keep her expression as neutral as possible despite the sadness welling up in her.

 _That settles it, I suppose._

She returned to her compartment. Havoc's face lit up when he saw the two cups of coffee in her hand. It fell again when she handed one to Fuery and took a sip from the other one.

"Don't I get a cup?"

She gave him a pointed look. "When you learn some manners, I'll get you coffee."

Fuery suppressed a giggle as Havoc's face fell further.

* * *

Roy felt sick after she walked past his compartment. She couldn't even look him in the eye for more than a couple of seconds. His chest heaved shallow breaths and he was thankful that the others were asleep as he tried to calm himself down.

What had he done?

He wondered if she hated him. He supposed she had every right to, he basically used her, without telling her how he felt about her. But didn't she know?

 _Of course she knows_ , he assured himself. Anyone with half a brain cell could tell how he felt about her. If there ever had been any doubt at all, the Promised Day left very little to hide his true feelings. But this was new territory, despite the fact that it felt long overdue. She had bared herself to him, letting him see her in ways that he'd only ever dreamed about. And even though she knew that it wasn't a Colonel having a fling with a subordinate, there was still an imbalance of power within the act itself.

 _It's Equivalent Exchange_ , he thought. He calmed down at this idea. He was an alchemist, he could handle the concept of give-and-take. She had been vulnerable around him, all he had to do was be vulnerable for her and the balance would be restored.

But how? He imagined that she wouldn't be quite as turned on by him masturbating as he was with her. Although, he found it hard to imagine anything he did could make her feel as good as he felt watching her touch herself. The image of her arched back and her hand on her breast came back into his mind and he had to push it down to concentrate.

He yawned, finally allowing himself to relax into slumber. He had a few days, maybe even longer, to think of how to make it up to her.

The important thing was that he _would_ make it up to her.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: So I'm finally back! I know I said this would be earlier than it is, but I'm Irish and we're renowned for being kind of hand-wavey with time. We also had an incredibly important referendum recently that I've been campaigning for for years and we WON! So the past few days has been crying and celebrating, but I'm ready to get back to the story now!**

 **I know I said one more chapter, but I got carried away with the team, so there's at least one more on the way, maybe two. I wanted some Rebecca and I wanted to write more Breda because I think he is such an underappreciated character! But I'll continue writing throughout the evening and hopefully there won't be as much time between updates as there has been.**

 **Thank you for all of your comments and favs, they mean the world to me! Please enjoy!**

* * *

For the next few days, all of Central Headquarters was chaos. Riza felt that while everyone was under a lot of pressure, her team had been given more responsibilities than most. She thought bitterly that the Colonel and his subordinates had helped save the world, and now they were expected to clean the mess they'd made in the process.

The base was mostly restored, though some of it remained unfurnished. They had been lucky to have been allowed to get started on Ishval before Central had been rebuilt. Nobody had been expecting Central to take such a hard beating, but she and Mustang had planned the Ishval restoration for years. They had adamantly told the acting-Fuhrer that they were going to get started as soon as Mustang got his sight back, with the promise that they would lead a team from Central, and not move to the desert. Central still needed their expertise.

Riza didn't expect that the expertise she would have to provide for were party planning. Grumman's inauguration was coming up, and she had been asked to help Rebecca with some of the arrangements for the ball. Rebecca's oncoming promotion to Fuhrer's assistant made it clear why she was there, but Riza suspected nobody would be able to give her a satisfactory answer as to why _she_ was chosen. After the party, Fuery was going on vacation so they would be a man down in the office, which probably won't stop being hectic in the aftermath of the Promised Day for quite some time. Riza sighed. They had worked hard to get to the position they were in now, but the last few steps were going to be overdrive. Getting rid of corrupt military men (and monsters) was a relief, but the eccentricities of their new Fuhrer was bound to be exhausting in a different way. As proven, in her mind, by the plethora of tiny last-minute errands she was being forced to go on.

Rebecca was helping her, holding up two swatches of blue silk.

"They don't have enough military-blue for the chair coverings. Do you think we can get away with using royal blue on the rest of them, or will we have to go with a different supplier?"

Riza suppressed a sigh, trying to focus on the two swatches. There were subtle colouring differences, but nothing that eyes as sharp as hers would be able to discern. "The royal blue will be fine."

"Awesome. I'm so glad you're doing this with me, I'd still be agonizing over the table-coverings without you!"

Rebecca loved fashion and had an interest in interior design, but she had never planned anything quite as big as an inauguration dinner before, and with their time-limits, she was a ball of nerves. Fortunately for her, Riza was too tired and too apathetic to the pageantry of military balls, so she had taken to being the deciding voice, mostly choosing convenience over personal feeling. All of the options given to her were elaborate, expensive and fitting for the monarchical event, so choosing one from another was easy.

The job was menial and felt beneath her, and she was sure she was only given it by virtue of her gender, which should have infuriated her. But if she was honest, she was happy to be out of the office. His office. They hadn't any chance to talk since the night in Ishval, and while she knew they would have to eventually, every time she thought about how the conversation would go, she remembered his regretful face on the train. She understood, and even agreed, on a base level, why he might have regretted what happened between them. But she wasn't in the right place to talk about it just yet.

She suspected he knew that she was trying to avoid him for the past few days. Every time she had to return to the office for files or things from her desk, she could feel his eyes follow her as she moved through the room. She wouldn't look directly at him, but in the corner of her eye she would see a movement, as if he were going to stand up or say something, before he would go back to whatever task he had been doing instead. She reasoned that he would probably find it difficult to talk to her about this too. Therefore, it was better really, that they give each other some more space before addressing the problem.

"Hey Rebecca, I need to borrow your lovely assistant."

Rebecca and Riza turned to see Havoc approaching, a cigarette in his mouth and a smile on his face.

Rebecca turned to Riza and pouted. "Why are men always taking you away from me?"

Riza smiled at her friend. "I'll be back soon. The flowers should be arriving tomorrow, can you figure out where to store them until they are ready for display?"

Rebecca gave a mock salute. "You can count on me! Oh, and by the way, we're going dress shopping this evening!"

Riza sighed. "I don't have the time-"

"Yeah, well too bad, Riza! C'mon, it'll be fun! I'll veto the dresses you pick that make you look like a frumpy spinster, you'll veto the dresses _I_ pick that make you look like the sexy mistress of a businessman. We'll come to some kind of compromise. Fun!"

Before Riza could rebuff, she felt Havoc's heavy, muscled arm fall around her shoulders, forcibly steering her away from her friend.

"I'll take your silence as a yes!" Rebecca called down the hall after her.

Riza huffed. "Is everything alright, Second Lieutenant?"

Havoc grinned, steering Riza into one of the empty, refurbished offices a few doors down. "Just dandy, Hawkeye. Though I'm not here to talk about me."

"Why are you here? Why are we here?"

Havoc took his arm from her, turning to face her squarely. He looked down at her, his expression sobering. "What's up, Ri?"

Riza raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why the hell have you abandoned the team to pick out colour schemes and entrees? You hate this kind of stuff."

She crossed her arms. "I hate a lot of things. It has to be done."

"By you?"

"If it's to be done on time, yes."

Havoc's eyes softened. "And that's all?"

Riza sighed again, for what felt like the millionth time this week. "This would be a lot easier if you would just tell me what's bothering you, Havoc."

He scratched his head and looked down, a small frown on his face. Riza was disturbed by his mannerism. It wasn't like him to look so earnestly worried.

"Listen, I know I upset you on the train, and I made some wise cracks in Ishval, but that's just me. I'm not trying to pick on you or anything." He looked at her again, and she was taken aback by the sadness in his eyes. "I'm not as straight-laced as you, but I'm not a fuck-up. I'll be good in front of the big brass. I just thought we were close enough that we could joke around."

Riza's heart broke a little at his words. She had been flitting around for days, Havoc must have gotten himself so worked-up over the idea of her being upset with him. She wanted to hug him. She chose instead to place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze.

"Hey, I'd never have made it this far in my career if I let a little teasing get to me." He smiled at that. "And I know you respect me, and that you're only having fun. My absence is absolutely nothing to do with your behaviour."

His forehead smoothed in relief. "Promise?"

"I promise."

"Great. I'll let you get back to your flowers or whatever. And Hawkeye?"

"Yes?"

"Pick out an extra slutty dress for me."

She regarded him coolly. "Don't push your luck."

* * *

Roy inspected two ties in front of him, narrowed down from the rest of the collection in his wardrobe. _What a silly thing to be so worried about_ , he thought. He's spent every waking moment since he regained his sight planning reconstructions and reunions and trying his best to begin making up for every mistake he's ever made, and now he was agonising over which tie he should wear. Well, _almost_ every waking moment. He gave himself and his team one night of drinking and music to unwind, and it ended up being…

He shook his head, focusing again on the ties in front of him. The decision was trivial, but it was at least a distraction. And if he were being honest, it meant something to him that he looks as good as he can tonight. Not just for the inevitable brown-nosing he would have to endure, but because she would be there.

He had been working on a game-plan to try and even the playing field a little after she had given him so much of herself that night. But all of his plotting fell to the wayside over the past week, as she took up basic out-of-office jobs and barely looked at him the few times she had been in his company. Now, the entire plan was pared down to getting her to just talk to him.

And tonight was the night; there was no way she would be able to avoid him all night. Sure, she'd probably _try_ – Roy knew better than anyone how intense her stubborn streak could be – but with her grandfather and his mentor being crowned king of the country, neither of them were on active duty, so she wouldn't be able to hide behind the veil of being busy with work. Grumman had even given them the next day off, explicitly telling her that she had no excuses for trying to leave the party early. That was clearly for Grumman's benefit, and Roy didn't begrudge the man's desire to share the celebration with his last remaining family, but that didn't mean Roy wasn't going to use the situation for his own personal gain. Just like Grumman used Roy's coup for _his_ own agendas.

He's missed her, in the past few days. He had felt weirdly naked without the sensation of her sharp eyes looking out for him. But she wouldn't be able to avoid looking at him tonight. And when she did look at him, he wanted to look good. So, after minutes of careful deliberation, he chose the burgundy silk tie, knotting it around his collar and straightening it. Picking up his silver pocket-watch, his keys and his wallet, he gave himself a once-over in the mirror, pleased with his choice of tie, and walked purposefully out the door.

* * *

Riza had gotten ready at work with Rebecca. After the official, public inauguration, they had returned to headquarters to finish the arrangements for the party and, knowing that they were not going to have any time to go home, they had gotten dressed and ready in the locker-rooms. Riza plaited Rebecca's hair as she applied her lipstick, scrutinising herself in the compact mirror she held.

"Is this colour okay? I don't know if it pops enough."

Riza didn't know if it popped enough either, not understanding exactly what popping meant in relation to lipstick. "It looks great, Rebecca."

"You're not wearing your hair like that, are you?"

"Keep still. What's wrong with my hair?"

"Come on, Ri. You always wear it that way. This is a special occasion. Plus, if you left it down, it will help hide the scar on your neck."

Riza pulled a little on a lock of Rebecca's hair, partially to chastise her for not staying still, and partially because of the well-meaning insult. "I'm not ashamed of the scar."

"You _know_ that's not what I mean. You're a badass, babe. You don't need to show off your war-wounds to prove it." When Riza secured Rebecca's hair, she stood up and faced Riza, eyeing the scar.

"I… I still can't believe he let-"

"Rebecca," Riza warned, her voice dropping an octave.

"I know, I know! I wasn't there, I trust you when you say he couldn't have helped." Rebecca's eyes shone with sadness, tears threatening to spill, before she clamped her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and opened them with determination.

"I'll do a side-braid. It'll cover the scar and keep it out of your face." Riza must have looked a little wary of the offer, because Rebecca pressed on. "Come on, it'll make up for you not choosing the dress I wanted you to buy."

Riza rolled her eyes and sat down, allowing Rebecca to take the clip from her hair and begin brushing.

"That dress was ridiculous."

"It looked hot as hell on you and you know it."

* * *

It had taken a lot of effort for Roy not to arrive too early to the party. It was good for his look to be fashionably late, which he had to remind himself was important. For some reason. But he was anxious to see her, and for her to see him. They would talk a little, maybe have a drink or two, maybe dance a little. They'd work something out, like they always do. Maybe he could convince Grumman that it wouldn't be the end of the world if she left early, and he'd make sure she got home okay. Maybe he'd ask for forgiveness instead of permission, and just sneak her out with him, take her to his place and make her moan like she moaned less than a week ago, over and over until they collapsed from exhaustion.

But that was thinking a little too far ahead. And more importantly, tonight wasn't about him getting her to bed; it was about him getting her to look him in the eye again. Well, _technically_ it was about celebrating a new leader of the country.

As he entered the hall, he admired the general aesthetic of the evening. Military blue colours draped over the tables and chairs, there were flowers and banners dotted around and the staircase to the balcony was gleaming clean but left tastefully undecorated, the mahogany wood outshining any carpet that would have otherwise covered it. He had to commend her work. He may not have liked her spending her time on all of this, but she'd done a good job.

Crowds of well-dressed people were already sitting at tables or standing at the bar. The dancefloor was ready but the orchestra hadn't started yet so it was currently empty.

He smirked as a few heads turned towards him in recognition. He always liked the feeling of being known – renowned – and the approving glances from some of the women in the room was a nice confident boost. He scanned the room for some familiar faces (for her), and his eye caught a waving hand a few yards into the room. The hand belonged to Breda, who was slouched over a drink at the bar beside Fuery.

Approaching them, he smiled at the people he passed. A small swoon from the wife of a general put a little more of a strut in his step as he reached his subordinates.

"Hey boss. Looking good."

"You too," Roy said honestly. Breda rarely wore suits, but he always pulled them off with the poise of someone who wore them religiously. It always amused Roy that Breda was considered so uncouth and slobby, given that he was probably one of the most intelligent and articulate people Roy had ever met. Breda and Roy were quite similar in ways; Breda garnered trust by acting like the type of person nobody should be worried about, whereas Roy used silly charm and vanity to throw people off the scent of his agendas.

"Want a drink, sir?" Fuery asked. Roy shook his head, thanking him. He had decided that he'd be better off clear-headed tonight, so he was planning on sticking to water.

"Have you seen the others?" _Where is she,_ he stopped himself from asking.

"Havoc's outside smoking and last I saw of Falman, he was explaining to Rebecca why her idea of arming every citizen in Amestris would cause more problems than it would solve."

Roy chuckled, scanning the room for Falman. If Rebecca was here, that meant Hawkeye was here too. And luckily, Falman was a very easy-to-distinguish man in crowds, so it should be a piece of cake finding them.

"I'd better go mingle. Don't go too crazy on the whiskey, men." Breda grunted, turning back to his conversation with Fuery.

Walking through the small cliques of people, Roy eventually spotted Falman's head poking out above the sea of heads. He couldn't distinguish who Falman was talking to, but he moved towards him anyway. He only managed a few steps before he was accosted by a Colonel from South, who introduced him to his group of colleagues and their dates. Roy put a strained grin on his face as he got sucked into conversations he didn't want to be having, knowing that tonight was about politics, and there was no polite way to excuse himself yet. As the Colonel's wife talked about how difficult it was to travel to Central, Roy's eyes kept wandering around the room, eventually finding Falman again. Unfortunately, by then, Falman was talking to one of the drill sergeants from Central, with no Rebecca or Hawkeye in sight.

As he zoned in and out of conversations, he felt a familiar prickling at the hairs on his neck. His forced smile relaxed into something more genuine. Even when he was blind, he could always tell when she was watching him. He felt at ease, knowing, confirming, that she was somewhere in the room. He decided against turning around to look for her. For now, it was enough to know that she was there. He had the rest of the night to talk to her.

* * *

This was getting ridiculous.

She was so close to collapsing from exhaustion, but she had been staying as alert as possible all evening. She made sure never to stay in one place for too long, constantly floating around the room to find people to talk to that weren't him.

She'd be able to handle just avoiding him, but mixed up into this whole absurd situation was the fact that they were at a military function, and she was his bodyguard. So on top of trying to keep his attention away from her, she needed to have him in her line of sight constantly. She knew she should just relax; there were guards on-duty and he was probably in the safest place in Amestris, but he was also an infamous war hero at a time when the military was weakened and rebel groups were growing.

She almost caught his eye when he turned away from his conversation. She spun around and made for another location, eventually spotting Breda beside some entrees.

"Hawkeye, you gotta try one of these." He handed her an amuse-bouche and she accepted it gratefully. As Breda grabbed another bite-sized snack for himself, he cast his eyes up and down her body. Breda was a brash person, but never to the point of making people feel too uncomfortable. Riza didn't feel twitchy under his scrutiny.

"You look great, by the way."

"Thank you, Breda." She cast a quick look down at her dress – an emerald green silk affair that started tight around her neck, chest and waist whilst the skirt hung loosely at knee-length. Rebecca had pouted when she bought it, having favoured a loud, scarlet dress that had barely enough material to cover a child's frame. She had looked like she was wearing a negligee, and when she had voiced that opinion to Rebecca, Rebecca nodded as if that was the entire point. "Have you been enjoying yourself?"

Breda shrugged. "I guess. Classy do's don't do much for me, and I've been ordered not to get too drunk. What about you? Why aren't you stumbling about the place yet?"

Riza smiled, turning her face away to scan the crowds. She could see Mustang, talking to Havoc as Havoc checked out a general's wife. "I think one glass of wine would be enough to put me to sleep for days."

"Yeah, it's been pretty crazy. Listen," Riza's attention snapped back to Breda. "What do you think is going to happen next?"

Surprised by the question, she paused. "I'm not sure. The Colonel's bound to get promoted to General, given the current shortage," _that we helped propagate_ , she inflected.

"And everyone else?"

"Well, Falman might move back North. I think he's afraid to admit he liked it there. Fuery will probably be considered to lead the communications division, or at least get a high-ranking role. Havoc will do anything to stay out of Armstrong's division. I would hope he stays around. I will continue to be the Colonel's adjutant."

Breda's shoulders sagged, as if relieved. "Good. I was afraid you were mad at him or something."

Riza kept her expression as passive as possible. Of course Breda would get close to the mark. Havoc saw the tension, but had assumed it was his own fault. Breda was much too intuitive to make that mistake. But he wasn't completely right either. She wasn't mad at Mustang. Instead of placate Breda and possibly give him more information than he should have, she continued.

"I'm not sure about your immediate future, Breda. But you'll be a General one day. You're undervalued in your current position. You're far too intelligent a resource for the military to waste.

Breda blushed lightly at the compliment, which surprised Riza. Very little shook Breda up. She turned her head again, scanning the crowd and making sure she was safe to stay for another few minutes. The Colonel was across the room, still speaking to Havoc.

"I would like that. I'm a strategist, I'd like to use that for the good of the people."

Riza smiled. "You will."

"Speaking of strategy," Breda grinned at her and again she got the feeling that he knew too much. "Yours isn't going to work."

Riza raised her eyebrows. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Breda raised his hands in mock-surrender. "I'm just saying, it's much easier to work with someone when you can look them in the eye."

She tried to supress a scowl, settling instead for a glare. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm not suggesting anything. Suggesting something would mean that there's something there to suggest. And there isn't, right?"

She bit the inside of her jaw. Breda had an amazing knack for toeing the line of insubordination. If she were to scold him for it, it would be far more revealing of herself than of him.

"I hope they make you a General sooner rather than later, Second Lieutenant. It would be refreshing to get you out of my hair.

He simply grinned and handed her another amuse-bouche. "You don't mean that."

She softened her glare as she accepted it. "No. I don't."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey everyone! So this is pretty much the end of the road with this story, but I will be adding an epilogue after Royai Week, which I will be participating in this year. (I have 3 stories ready to go and a rough idea of the rest, so I'll try to keep up!)**

 **Thank you all SO MUCH for the favs and comments and support! This is my first fanfic, and hopefully the first of many, so I hope to interact with you all again in other stories.**

 **Please enjoy, and I hope to hear from you again during Royai Week!**

* * *

Roy was starting to get pissed off.

He played the patience game, spent hours plastering a smile on his face while listening to mundane crap that had nothing to do with work or the future or anything that he was interested in. Mostly, he just politely side-stepped some very heavy come-ons and nodded along to vague gossip about cheating husbands. Biggest city in the country, and still there was small-town gossip. He didn't care about who was going home with whom – with one exception, of course.

Every time he managed to wriggle away from a crowd of military men and their dates, he would look for her. By the time he saw her and started to approach, he'd be sucked in to another conversation with another vaguely familiar face and before he finished blinking, she'd be gone again.

By now he'd done a full circle of the room, asking his men if they'd seen her, but he always seemed to be one step behind. _I was just talking to her, I don't know where she went off to._ He'd almost been ready to just stay in one place, as if they just kept missing each other. But no, there was no way she wasn't going out of her way to avoid him. He knew this would happen, had prepared for it. But he didn't expect to feel this hurt. Did she really regret it that much? He knew the conditions hadn't been ideal, but it wasn't a drunken mistake. It was only a rash decision in the moment, really it was years in the making; a build-up so volatile that the conditions of that night tipped it over the edge. How could she regret something that was years in the making?

As he scanned the crowd for what felt like the millionth time that night, the daughter of a southern General slipped into the free space in front of him. She had spoken to him multiple times in the night (and had dropped more than one hint that she was single, and that her hotel room was quite spacious and very nearby), and he almost let an exasperated sigh slip through his lips as she smiled demurely at him.

"You know, Colonel, my father must be quite an intimidating man, because not one gentleman has asked me to dance yet."

He slipped on his most charming smile, ready to politely rebuff the implication, when over her shoulder he spotted a brief flash of the green dress he's been chasing all night. Craning over her to see better, he saw his Lieutenant on the dance floor with the new Fuhrer. Grumman was beaming, chatting animatedly while she was smiling thinly, nodding at intervals. She looked tired and distracted and absolutely beautiful.

He turned his attention back to the woman in front of him. "Well, Miss Brigham-"

"Carla."

"Carla. I'll be happy to help you with the watershed. Once you're seen dancing, I'm sure you'll be getting offers all night."

He had taken her hand by now, was leading her to the dance floor casually. When they got into position, he ignored how close she was pulling him by his neck, trying to keep a more respectful distance as he placed a hand lightly on the middle of her back.

Carla really was a beautiful woman. If he hadn't gotten a taste of everything he ever wanted, he would have been interested. If the idea of him and Hawkeye was still this abstract, impossible thing, he'd have walked her to her hotel room and waited for the invitation to join her for a nightcap. But as it stood, even as he was dancing with her and making small-talk, he was still trying to keep his eyes on Hawkeye. With all the spinning and stepping and turning, he would keep seeing glimpses and flashes of her; her blonde hair in a braid that rested on her shoulder, the skirt of her dress as it fanned with the momentum of her movements, her strong steady hand clasping Grumman's wrinkled one.

He hoped she could see him too. A small part of him hoped, even, that she would be jealous to see him dancing with a beautiful woman, just to quell the tiny and nonsensical fear that she was avoiding him out of pure disinterest. He knew it wasn't the case, but in this strange limbo in their relationship, this purgatory of her not talking to him for days, knowing something didn't carry the same level of reassurance that it used to.

Anger flared up in him again. He couldn't really know anything about her at the moment. Her not talking to him was the least of his problems, he was used to her not saying anything at all, putting up walls to keep her stoic reputation intact. That was how he learned to read her from her expressions alone, her eye signals that couldn't be hidden quite as easily as her words. But now she wasn't even looking at him, and he felt blind again. She wasn't putting up walls; she was moving the entire fortress somewhere just out of reach.

"You know, my friends at home will be very jealous to hear that I met the Flame Alchemist on my trip to Central," Carla cooed. "You're a very popular man, Colonel Mustang."

Roy grinned at her, turning her in her step unpredictably. Instead of keeping their spot on the dancefloor in a circular step, they were travelling in a line. A line that was getting closer and closer to two other dancers on the floor.

"You should have told me you wanted to meet some celebrities. I can do you one better, really make your friends jealous."

"Oh?"

"Absolutely. How would you like to meet the Fuhrer?"

"Wha-" she began before she let out a small yelp of surprise as he pushed her by her elbow into the dancing pair, grabbing Hawkeye's elbow with his other arm and pulling her away from her dance partner. He briefly caught Grumman's surprised "Oh my!" as Carla practically fell into his arms, before he had spun Hawkeye towards his body and stepped her away from the Fuhrer and Carla.

She was wide-eyed and looked a little pissed off, which, Roy admitted to himself, should not have been as sexy as it was.

"Hey there," he said with mock-enthusiasm.

She huffed as she fell into step with him, both of them seamlessly falling into place. "You shouldn't leave my grandfather with a young woman. You know how he gets."

"She'll be fine, he's Fuhrer now, I'm sure he knows to behave himself."

She raised an eyebrow. "Have you met him?"

"It's not really him I'm interested in talking about." He spun her briefly and when he pulled her back to him, he made sure to pull her slightly closer. He was mad at her and wanted to stay mad, but the silk of her dress was warm under his hand and she looked so lovely tonight and he was finding it hard to frown at her like he wanted to. Still, he had to try to convey his anger. "Can we talk like adults or are you just going to hide from me forever?"

Hawkeye's eyes shone at the insult, but she fixed her gaze over his shoulder. "I have not been hiding."

"Come on Lieutenant, you know better than to lie to me."

He wasn't expecting the steely gaze to dissolve so easily, but there in her eyes she could see her resignation to the situation. He could also see a sadness, something akin to regret. When she sighed, the anger drained from him, replaced with a low hum of worry.

"Listen, if you regret what happened that night-"

"Not regret," she admitted. "But it was careless. I understand that it was far too risky."

"Understand?"

"I am sorry to have put you into that position, Sir."

She was apologising to him? But he was the one who walked in on her, who refused to leave, who practically ordered her to continue. God, how could _she_ be sorry?

"I believe the best course of action is to chalk it up to the alcohol consumed and move on as if nothing had happened."

His face fell. "You don't mean that."

"It is a convenient excuse, Sir."

"It's bullshit!"

Alarmed by the sudden rise in his voice, she finally looked him in the eye. He reckoned she could see anger in them, and the low thrum of desire that he always feels being this close to her. He hoped that she would make note of the fact that she can't see any regret in them. He may have felt bad before that the situation wasn't as romantic or as equal as she deserved, but it happened and he knew deep in his bones that she liked it and she wanted it and the alcohol may have added some courage but it didn't add any feelings that weren't there already.

He held her hand a little tighter. "So you want to pretend like that night never happened?"

She swallowed thickly and nodded. "I believe that would be for the best."

"Fine."

Her shoulders sagged a little in relief. "Thank you, Sir."

"Want to go on a date?"

She stiffened again, raising an eyebrow as if to condemn his question.

"What? So Ishval never happened. We're back to the way we were before. And I want to take you out on a date."

"Sir, you know that's not appropriate."

He lowered his voice. "It's not the only inappropriate thing I want to do to you."

She fell out of step with him for a moment, shifting her heel onto his foot, and he pulled her closer in response, as if helping her to recover from her intentional misstep.

"That's not funny!"

"I'm not trying to be funny. Riza…" He waited for her to look at him again. "I want you. I've wanted you for years. I can forget about that night if you want me to, but that doesn't change anything."

The music finished, and they stopped moving, but he didn't let her go. They stared at each other, and the moment stretched for what felt like eternity as he waited for her to speak. Then, suddenly, eternity didn't feel like long enough, because she was out of his arms and in the grip of Rebecca, who chattered something animatedly as she steered Riza through the crowd.

Roy growled at the intrusion, watching them walk away. He wasn't sure if Rebecca ruined the moment on purpose or not, but he was pissed off nonetheless as his sudden solitude attracted the attention of a few women who flocked to him for conversation.

* * *

Riza turned on the lights in her small apartment, throwing her keys onto the table and looking at the clock. This was the first time she'd been home before midnight in weeks, maybe months. When she had informed Grumman of her departure, he had seemed crestfallen but understanding. Before the restoration efforts and the Promised Day itself, Riza had spent almost half a year as a Homonculus' assistant, she hasn't had a night away from panic in too long.

Tonight she still had something niggling in her mind, but she was almost grateful at how childish it seems in relation to her previous anxieties over being in constant danger. It seemed silly really, that after everything she's been through she found herself fretting over a man.

Of course he wasn't just any man. Roy Mustang was every pain and pleasure of her life. He was her damnation to hell and her salvation on Earth. He was her first and only love, the man she loved enough to die for, to kill for.

Still, she felt a little ashamed of her adolescent reaction to his asking her out.

Rebecca had likely not meant to interrupt a moment, but Riza was grateful that she had cut into their conversation. Riza hadn't known what to say to his declarations of desire. He rarely spoke so openly, even rarer in public, and after years of code-words and glances and meaningful silences, his honesty was almost more than she could handle. Like a sensory overload, she was feeling too much at once, wanting to scream if only to distract herself.

She kicked off her shoes and untied the braid in her hair, running her fingers through the now wavy segments until they fell naturally into each other. She decided she'd brush it tomorrow morning, before she picked up Hayate from the dog-sitter. Having her dog back and a decent night's rest would be the beginnings of returning to normalcy. Everything would be easier in the morning.

As she navigated to her room, she thought about her conversation with Breda. He had been curious as to everyone's futures, and she had played the game, speculating as to what would happen to the team. Belatedly, she wondered if he was trying to get her to envision the future in order to confront the reality that normalcy was now unachievable. Everything will change, and her conversation with him reminded her of that, as well as the fact that some things will stay the same. In every possible future, she will be by Mustang's side. Breda likely knew that.

Clever bastard, she thought as she undressed. He really will make an excellent General one day.

The first knock was almost so quiet that she thought she was hearing things. She froze in place, her nightdress barely pulled over her frame. After a few breaths, the next knock came, louder.

She considered not answering it, knowing that it could only be one person. After the next knock, she decided against ignoring it, walking resolutely towards the hall. The last thing she wanted was her door burned down.

Opening the door barely enough to peek out at him, she sighed and opened it further when her suspicions were confirmed.

He leaned against her doorjamb, legs crossed over each other, hands in his pockets and head bowed towards the floor. When she opened the door, his head rose slowly, his gaze lazily tracing up her body until he found her face. She could see most of the anger gone from his eyes, now that he had some time to cool off. He smirked.

"Hey."

She sighed. "It's late, Sir."

"You left early. I thought you were under Fuhrer's orders to stay."

She crossed her arms. "It was a long night, I just wanted to get to sleep."

He frowned. "Why, have you been drinking?"

"What? No."

A slow smile crept across his face, as if he had been setting her up, and counting on that response. "Good. Me neither."

One long step and he was directly in front of her, a hand outstretched and finding a stray lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear without touching her skin.

She could feel his breath on her face, and her body seemed to betray her, unconsciously tilting her head back and to the side as his face got closer, giving him the space needed to...

His lips were soft, the touch against hers so gentle, so inquisitive, that it robbed her of her breath. The hand that hovered by her ear slipped behind her neck, cradling it gently in his palm. He pulled away for a moment before leaning in again, this time with slightly more pressure against her mouth. He moved his lips against hers, and she found herself kissing him back, following the gentle pace he set.

He moved forward, stepping them both further into the apartment, and swung the door closed behind him. The whoosh of air as the door swung on its hinges, followed by a bang as it shut, jolted the two of them, but they didn't break away. Instead, something in the air became more urgent. His hand on her neck climbed up to bury itself in her hair and she tilted her head back a little more, opening her mouth under his.

He reacted instantly, slipping his tongue between her lips and moving it against hers. The pressure against her lips increased as he walked her backwards through the room. When her lower back bumped gently against the kitchen table, he brought his free hand to her waist and stepped completely into her space, his hips and chest pressed against hers.

It was a great kiss - their first kiss, she realised with a hint of embarrassment - and when he pulled back, her lips tingled as she tried to steady her breathing. He pressed his forehead against hers and she noticed that he was breathing heavily too. She felt inexplicable pleasure at knowing that he was reacting just as intensely.

"No alcohol to blame this time," he muttered, and though her eyes were closed she could feel the smile on his face as he spoke. His hand slipped from her hair to his side, his other hand taking one of hers. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

She pulled back to regard his face. She was right about the smile. "Sir?"

"Relax, I'm not trying anything. I can't have you claiming exhaustion next time you don't want to confront your feelings," he teased. "We're going to get a decent night's sleep and tomorrow we can talk about that date you owe me." He turned around, hand still holding hers, and led her down the hall.

She stared after him incredulously. "I _owe_ you?"

"Come on, Lieutenant. After everything you did to me that night? The least you could do is buy me dinner."

She snorted at his teasing tone as he stopped in the hall, regarding all of the closed doors. She took control, pulling him towards her room. She flicked on the light and he glanced around the room. It wasn't much to look at, it was small and un-decorated. But he didn't seem to disapprove. He led her to bed as she kicked off her slippers and climbed under the covers. When she finished getting comfortable, she looked up at his expectant face.

"What?"

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

She smiled despite herself and shifted over, lifting the covers on one side to make room for him. He smiled and undid his tie whilst kicking off his shoes. After unbuckling his belt and quickly unbuttoning his shirt, he climbed into the bed in his undershirt and boxers. He lay down and turned to face her.

"Um, can I..." His hand hovered over her hip, and she was struck by the gentleness in his voice. After everything they've done in the past few days, now he was nervous? She reckoned it had to do with being in her room for the first time. Everything felt a little more real to her too, now that he was lying with her in bed.

In response, she shifted closer to him, hands resting on his stomach as she buried her head in his chest. His arms wrapped around her and his face rested on the top of her head, planting a quick kiss into her hair before relaxing his body around hers.

"You know, you caught me once too."

She nestled further into him. "What?"

"When I was studying under your father. You walked in on me... Doing the same thing you were doing in Ishval."

She pulled away and raised her face to meet his. To her surprise, she found pink on his cheeks.

"I don't recall..."

"It was the night of your sixteenth birthday," he admitted sheepishly. "We went swimming before sunset and I realised how much you'd, um, grown. That night, I was wondering if you'd ever been kissed. Then I started wondering if you'd ever done... What I was doing."

He had been wondering if she'd ever touched herself? "I probably hadn't at the time," she confessed. She hadn't really learned about sex until she was in the academy, let alone masturbation. Her untraditional childhood had stopped her from having any kind of "talk".

Mustang swallowed thickly at her admission. "I had it in my head that I was going to teach you. Help you find out what you liked, what you didn't, you know?"

She blushed. She hadn't known that he saw her that way back then.

"Anyway, then you came in to thank me for spending the day with you, and I felt so guilty that I was thinking about you like that."

She scanned through her memories. "You were acting strange for a couple of days after my birthday."

"I couldn't look you in the eye! It was like I defaced a statue or something!"

Riza laughed at his silliness. She saw what he was trying to do. The embarrassing confession evened the playing field somewhat. In Ishval, she had been so exposed to him. He was trying to expose some of himself. Equivalent exchange, she supposed. Alchemists were ridiculous sometimes. Still, she felt a little better, knowing that he had once been just as vulnerable as she was that night.

"We should get some rest," she reminded him.

He pulled her back into his chest and hummed in agreement.

"Plenty of time to talk about other things," he mumbled, nestling his face into her hair again.

She sighed in pleasure as sleep crept through her body. Yes, plenty of time.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So this is it! I figured I couldn't end a smut fic with a non-smut chapter, so I hope you like this epilogue! I finished my Royai week collection, but it feels so much more final to finish this, my** ** _first_** **fic.**

 **I had a great time writing it and I hope you'll enjoy it, and that you'll remember my name when you see my other fics pop up in the feed and give them a read too!**

 **Thank you to everyone who has given my feedback and encouragement and support. And a special thank you to the reviewers, anonymous or no, who have been kind enough to brighten up my days with their kind words.**

 **Please enjoy!**

* * *

"Yes, hello!"

Roy pulled away to stand up straight, hair sticking out at odd angles and lips slightly swollen. He tried to quieten his panting breaths before continuing. "I have a table booked for this evening under the name Roy Mustang."

He barely registered the voice on the other end of the line uttering a chirp "One moment please" as he felt his shirt buttons being deftly loosed from their button-holes. As he tried to take a step back and gain some composure, the legs wrapped around his waist tightened, pulling him in tighter and causing him to buck his hips instinctively in response.

"8pm, that's the one. I'm afraid there is, I'm going to have to cancel it. I know, I'm very sorry and I ho- _unh_ … I hope you can find someone to fill the spot. No, that won't be n-necessary. I'll call back and reschedule when I have a better grasp of my… calendar. Okay. _Okaythanksbye_." The phone gave a sharp tinny sound of protest as he slammed it into its cradle and returned his hands to the curve of her waist.

"You're killing me," he breathed before crushing his mouth against hers.

He pulled her by the hips so she was seated closer to the edge of the kitchen counter, trapping her with his own hips to keep her from slipping. She finished her work on his buttons as he grabbed at the fabric of her skirt. When she pushed his shirt off his shoulders, be broke the kiss to shake his arms free of the sleeves.

"They're going to ban me at this point," he panted, leaning in again to untuck her blouse from her skirt.

She responded with a laugh low in her throat before bringing her mouth to his chest and peppering kisses over his collarbone.

As he started clumsily fidgeting with her buttons, he bent down to capture her lips again. "I mean it." And again. "My picture will be up on their wall." And again. "With a sign saying 'Do Not Serve'".

She didn't seem to be taking his complaints seriously as she shrugged out of her blouse, unhooking her bra and dropping it at his feet.

They've been having an issue recently. Roy wasn't prepared to call it a 'problem' per se, but it was getting to the point where it may become an inconvenience.

It had been a week since he arrived at her apartment, sober and tired and ready to take a chance and kiss her. On the morning after the Fürher's inauguration, he woke up before her. He tightened his arms around her and ran a hand up and down her arm, feeling the soft fabric of her pyjama sleeve. When he felt fully awake, he slipped from the bed to her bathroom, searching through the cabinets until he found a spare toothbrush. He had only kissed her once, he wasn't going to let their second kiss be tainted with bad breath.

Exiting the bathroom, he took a minute to watch her sleeping form. She had worked herself ragged for weeks, and she earned her sleep. He slipped back into the bed as quietly as possible, but she stirred regardless, blinking slowly as her sleepiness began to wear off. Her face scrunched when she saw his face beside her, before her tired memory caught up with her and he could see the glint of recollection in her eyes.

"Hey," she rasped.

"Hey."

Lying there, her hair haloed on the pillow and looking so peaceful, his heart swelled. As he leaned in to kiss her, her hand came up to press on his chest, gently resisting him.

"I haven't brushed my teeth."

He smiled. "I don't care."

They made love gently that morning, with some weak protest from him ("I really do want to take you on a date first, you deserve to be treated right."). He worked through his light-headedness to try and catalogue every moment; every time her breath hitched, every time her eyes fell closed in pleasure, every time she ran her nails down his back. He brought them up gradually, building a pressure so deep-rooted and slow-building that the release lasted minutes. He looked into her eyes as she came with a sigh, and she looked back at him. They both smiled.

As he cleaned himself up and brought her a damp cloth, he told her he hadn't forgotten about that date, he knew just the place, he'd make them a reservation.

This was his third attempt.

 _At least we managed to get dressed for it,_ he thought idly as she began working on his belt buckle. The first two times, he nakedly tiptoed from the bedroom to the phone to relay the message that no, unfortunately something has come up, we'll have to reschedule. This time, he had shown up at her door adamant that he would not be cancelling again. He waited in her kitchen while she got out of her uniform and re-emerged in a white blouse and simple black pencil skirt. The outfit wasn't particularly special, it would have looked just as fitting in an office as it would in a restaurant, and Roy got the impression that this was done on purpose. If they were to be discovered, they could pass the whole thing off as an out-of-hours meeting rather than a date.

But watching her double-check her hair in the mirror, it suddenly hit Roy that he was taking her on a date. She had gotten dressed and there was a place picked out and a reservation under his name and he was _really_ going to go on an honest-to-goodness date with Riza Hawkeye. And in that moment, he needed to have her.

That's what brought her legs around his waist as he lifted her from the floor. That's what had him stumbling to the phone as he carried her until he rested her on the kitchen counter. And now, that's what had him stepping out of his pants and pushing her skirt up further up her thighs with such fervor that he could barely register the sound of cloth ripping in the back of his mind.

"Bedroom," she panted.

And so he was walking again, stumbling and kissing her and trying to keep his mind clear enough to remember her order, instead of just pinning her against the nearest surface – horizontal or vertical – and making them both cry out in pleasure.

None of the urgency left him by the time he had her on her back in bed. Hand rubbing between her legs and mouth breaking free from hers to explore her chest, he cursed whoever it was that invented underwear, creating a barrier that wasted vital seconds between his body and hers.

When they finally freed themselves from the rest of their clothes, he stretched over her to reach her nightstand drawer and pull out a condom, moaning as her freedom from his touch spurred her hands to wander. When he had retrieved it, he playfully swatted her hand away from its exquisite ministrations on his cock and secured it in place.

As he entered her, he wished he could freeze time and stay in this moment; her eyelids squeezing shut, her breath catching before releasing a moan, the wet, tight warmth of her core surrounding him. It was ecstasy concentrate, distilled into one perfect moment that robbed his breath and set every nerve on fire.

He moved inside her with all of the concentration and restraint he could manage. Since their first time in this bed, they haven't been slow in their love-making, as if the lost years were desperate to be made up for within the next fifteen minutes. He tried to hold back, but he knew that this time would be no different as his hips bucked and struggled against his self-inflicted restraint.

Her breaths quickened and he timed his hips to match, taking her labored breaths and gradually turning them into sighs, until she was squirming beneath him and every exhale was a moan that vibrated through his body as he groaned his responses. When he felt her legs stiffen, he knew instinctively that she was close, but the warmth and pressure was already twisting in his gut and he worried that she might not be close enough, that she would outlast him.

Reaching behind her back until he had a good hold of her, he twisted them both until he was staring up at her, her hair spilling down her back as she found her balance above him. She adjusted quickly, moving her body up and down while he grabbed her hips and watched her breasts bounce with her movements. She moved slower than he did, but her body weight lent to the pressure of her thrusts and he was buried impossibly deep inside her with every fall of her hips.

He grabbed her hand and brought it to where their bodies met. She took the hint and moved her hand into position, using her slim fingers to rub and play with her clit.

This was how this all started; her touching herself while he watched her hand, transfixed, and he wasn't about to complain about the new context of the gesture. Somehow, they had managed to take something as perfect as that night in Ishval and make it better, with the addition of his cock inside her as she moved above him. He would never get tired of watching her touch herself, of the idea of her making herself come, but it felt so good to be included, to work together to bring her over the edge. They've always been better together. Even her moans were better, less restrained and echoing alongside his own.

Her fingers quickened as she grew higher and higher in pitch, until she was leaning back, her back arched and her free hand grasping his leg for support. The change of angle coupled with the better view of her playing with herself sent a fresh wave of heat through him. As she began to lose her rhythm to the growing pleasure, he grabbed her hips and thrust up into her, fast and hard as she hovered above him. She focused all her concentration on her clit while he focused on pumping into her and listening to the tell-tale signs of her impending orgasm. By the time she tensed around him, she was panting heavily, and as she pulsed and tightened and throbbed, he lost himself in the feel of her. Following her over the edge, he struggled to remember to breathe, gasping and groaning and slamming her hips down onto him until he was buried inside her, filling the condom while her juices spilled slowly down her thighs and onto his pelvis.

As she raised her hips to withdraw, he squeezed his eyes shut at the fresh throb of spent pleasure. She collapsed beside him, and he caught his breath enough to roll off the bed and clean himself up. When he fell back into bed, he handed her the damp cloth he had retrieved, and she rubbed it between her legs gratefully. He lay on his back and pulled her onto him, her head resting on his chest. He kissed the top of her head.

"We should still probably eat dinner," he mumbled into her hair.

She hummed. "I did grocery shopping yesterday, I'll make something soon."

"You know, I'm starting to think you don't want to go on a date with me at all."

He said it as a joke, but he felt her body stiffen ever-so-slightly. He pulled back enough to look down at her.

"Riza?"

She craned her neck to face him, and her eyes shone with something approximating guilt.

"Have you been seducing me out of taking you to dinner?" he asked. "Not that I'm complaining, I guess."

She smiled. "I had every intention of going out tonight. It was you who cancelled so abruptly."

He laughed at that. "Yeah, well, you didn't seem to mind."

"But I'm glad we didn't go. I think that maybe going out together is an unnecessary risk."

 _Ah_. Sometimes he forgot that while he finally had everything he could ever want, it was still something he wasn't technically allowed to have. The military wouldn't care for their history, their feelings for one another. A commanding officer sleeping with a subordinate was still an offense worthy of a court-martial.

"You deserv-"

"I already have much more than I deserve," she interrupted, and though her voice was steady and sure, his heart still broke. As far as he was concerned, there wasn't a good thing in this world that she didn't deserve. "And I don't need dates to prove it."

There was a finality to her tone, and Roy knew that he wouldn't be taking her to dinner any time soon. The silence that followed felt heavy, like the dawn was shining on their perfect moment. Like they'd have to wake up soon.

He held her closer, squeezing her arm as she lay her head back on his chest. The warmth of her cheek reassured him. This wasn't a dream, and while it wasn't ideal, it was more than he could have ever asked for. He may not be able to take her out, or kiss her in public, or even stay in her apartment until dawn. But he had her, and he wasn't in any danger of losing her.

"Maybe things will change when I'm Führer," he murmured into her hair.

"Hm?"

"Yeah. If I can make the country a democracy, the military won't be running it anymore. I figure the frat laws can be relaxed a little after that."

She lifted her head again to look at him, a smile on her lips. "Do you think?"

"Sure. Besides, I can't stay in the Führer's mansion alone. All that space..."

"It _would_ be a waste."

"Such a waste. And I'm pretty sure my bodyguard wouldn't be happy with me if I didn't have some protection."

"Safety first," she teased.

"Exactly. It would be unsafe to leave me there by myself. What if someone wanted me dead? Or I burned the place down?"

She laughed. "It sounds like you."

He chuckled in response, reaching up to stroke her cheek. "That's why I'll need all the help I can get. I'm not sure I could even be trusted alone in bed. I'm going to need someone with me."

"Someone you trust."

"Someone who has my back."

She leaned in and kissed him gently, as images of their future formed in his mind. One big mansion, one big bed, one kitchen and garden and a living room with one big couch. All shared among two. All theirs.

She slid her hand up his chest and around his neck, repositioning herself so she was straddling him, chests touching as his arms wrapped possessively across her back. He smiled against her mouth. The urgency he felt earlier in the evening had softened, and when he repositioned them so as she was under him and slid his tongue between her lips, he did so lazily, with the tenderness of someone who had all the time in the world.

* * *

 **A/N: Sin é! I wish I did some Riza POV in this scene, but it felt right for it to be Roy's narration. Please let me know what you think, and if you're on AO3, my username is the same as it is here, or if you're on tumblr, my username is 1** **st** **-time-caller. Follow me and then tell me how to use tumblr because I am so new at it! Or drop me prompts, I'd love to write a few one-shots so let me know what you'd like to read!**


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